The Moulin Rouge
by Tilthesunturnsblack
Summary: Santana is the new starlet at the Moulin Rouge and Brittany is an aristocrat that falls under her charm. Don't own glee or moulin rouge!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Santana swung her legs out of bed and walked over to the window. She placed her hands on the bottom of the casing and gave a quick jerk, forcing the pane upwards as far as it would go. Immediately, she was greeted by the gentle crying of a violin from the stage in the Jardin de Paris and the sticky sweet smell of opium curling into her nose as it seemed to be exhaled from every pore of the giant stucco elephant looming below her window. Although it was small, these sounds, smells, and sights, made her flat the most desired by all the workers at the Moulin Rouge. _Being the star of the show clearly had its advantages_, she thought to herself as she hugged her red satin robe tighter about her shoulders as a cool April breeze drifted in. She turned from the window and lazily shuffled over to her armoire and picked up the small, wooden clock that lay there. Her eyes bulged and she flung it down with an unceremonious clatter and a hissed "Merde!" (she always found it somehow classier, yet more effective to swear in French) and began rifling through the drawers of her dresser to find the outfit she was supposed to wear tonight. It was 9:45 pm; the next show started at 10:00; she'd overslept for the third time this week.

Finally laying her hands on a pair of black stockings, her red bustier and matching panties, she began to hurriedly dress herself. She rushed over to her bed and threw herself down on it, legs shooting out in front of her to quickly but delicately work on her stockings, careful not to rip them. Next came the panties; she quickly shimmied into them and then grabbed the bustier, throwing it about her waist and straining her arms to reach the top strings of the corset back and give them a painful yank before tying them in a firm bow. She reached down and clipped the connecting buckles of the bustier to the bottom of her panties, and upon finishing dashed over to the wall beside her bed where her can-can skirt lay waiting. This skirt, long red, and flowing with a mix of red and white ruffles on the underside was unlike the skirts the backup dancer wore. This skirt was not sewn to an entire dress, but was simply an attachment for the waist of her bustier, made with some quick release buttons so she could be nearly nude in an instant, much to the continuous approval the crowds. Grabbing the brilliant piece of needlework, she quickly attached it around her hips, slit to the front of course, so her gorgeous caramel legs could be seen in all their glory as she danced. Rushing back to the armoire, and the mirror above it, she gave the clock a quick glance; 10 minutes. Fortunately, her black locks didn't need much work as the curl had staid in them while she slept. Taking a ruby encrusted barrette, she slicked the loose pieces of her bangs back and clipped them in place. Next, she found her press powder and put a sparse (her skin was flawless) but even layer over her face to tone down any shine that might come from the lights, and put gentle dabs of rouge on the crests of her cheekbones and tops of her breasts that curved teasingly out of the bustier. Reaching for her brush, she painted heavy strokes of the lampblack and elderberry juice mixture onto her eyelashes. Finally, she took the small round case and the tiny black brush on top and painted an even layer of bright red color onto her full lips. Setting it down, she bent down by her stool and picked up her favorite red heals. Her slender fingers worked quickly as she laced the strings through the last hole and secured them tightly. The clocked ticked at her and she glanced at it once again; 5 minutes to spare. She stepped back from the oval looking-glass and took in her work; she smiled at the finished product, took a deep breath, and grabbed her feather-rimmed hand fan as she headed towards the door to make it to the music hall on time.

The moon shone brightly through the wooden wings of the windmill that towered over the entrance of the Moulin Rouge as Brittany made her way to the door, accompanied by the Duke and his entourage of immaculately groomed gentlemen. The Duke slipped his arm from hers and jaunted forward to open the door for her, smiling that lecherous, holier-than-thou sneer that made her want to vomit. She allowed herself to be seen in the company of the Duke because people stopped asking questions about suitors as long as he seemed to be somewhat present in her life, and because he had enough money not to think twice about gallivanting her about Paris, eagerly participating in any luxurious adventure she desired. The Duke knew Brittany was not remotely interested in him. As a matter of fact, she seemed to show interest in no man as far as he was aware. But, she was elegant, she was of extremely high society, and she was beautiful; it was never troublesome to have her on his arm. Tonight, Brittany had requested he take her to the Moulin to watch the new dance called the "can-can" that the club was making famous. He had obliged, stipulating only that he be allowed to bring his gang of bumbling boyish aristocrats along with him so that he may have someone with whom he could appreciate the "sights and services" the Moulin had to offer; the women. When he had requested this, Brittany simply nodded her head and smirked, inwardly acknowledging that she herself would be appreciating the "sights and services" of the Moulin as well. As a matter of fact, the only reason Brittany had any desire to go to the Moulin was because she heard from a friend of hers that they had hired a magnificent new lead performer, and that she was the sole reason one should go. It was perfect; in a setting like the Moulin where the scantily clad female dancers were just part of the show that one was expected to watch, Brittany knew she could stare openly, without any fear of perceived impropriety on her part.

The entered the smoky atmosphere of the great music hall, chairs and tables lining a long, hardwood dance floor that led from a stage at the far end of the hall. A young woman in a feathered boa and barely-there dress took Brittany's shawl and the gentlemen's coats and they made their way to the center of the left side of the dance floor. Finding a table, the Duke pulled out Brittany's chair for her and seated himself next to her. Brittany's curious blue eyes swept around the room, taking in every detail; the walls were decorated with romantic paintings, the chairs were all lavishly lined in red velvet, scantily clad waitresses milled about serving drinks and flirting shamelessly with patrons for their income. The Moulin was all that she had anticipated and more; it was over the top, almost to the point of being gaudy, but there was an undeniable spark in the air.

Suddenly, the gentle plinking of piano keys silenced the room, and all eyes were turned immediately to the now brightly lit black velvet curtain that hid the stage from view. The tune on the piano grew in volume and pace, and a heavy drum beat joined in. The room was alive with anticipation, and patrons began to stir and whoop with impatience. Then, the curtain flew open and a line of women in snug-fitting red dresses and long flowing can-can skirts, slit to the hips up the front emerged, arm in arm, tapping out a lively rhythm with their metal-plated shoes. The girls danced in unison for a while, not doing anything particularly exciting, or new for all Brittany could tell, but they were amusing enough. The song finished on a sharp snare beat and the lights went out in unison with the music. The crowd applauded an appropriate amount and sat chatting loudly waiting for the next piece to begin. The lights came up, and the room went silent. Brittany swore you could've heard a pin drop, and she knew exactly why. The line of dancers had parted and there in the middle, back to the audience, stood the finest figure Brittany had ever laid eyes on, and she couldn't even see her face. Shining raven waves flowed down the cross-tied back of a ruby red bustier that hugged a slim waist and disappeared into supple hips that played host to a long can-can skirt. A thick double beat began on the drums and the hips began to sway back and forth. Immediately, the hips of each dancer in the two lines began to follow suit. Then, a smooth, delicious voice cried out,

"Let's show 'em that we can-can girls!" and the black hair flew in a flurry off those silky caramel shoulders as the woman whipped around to face the audience. A brilliant white smile played over full ruby lips and sparkling brown eyes shone out from under thick black lashes. The woman took three powerful steps forward with long, black stockinged legs and held out her hands to connect the two lines of dancers. Once together, she reached down, clasped the front of her skirt and pulled. The skirt came apart and she swung it once about her head and threw it to the back of the stage. She threw her head back and laughed, revealing the plunging neckline of her bustier, and her legs began to kick to a height Brittany was not aware was humanly possible. The crowd lost its mind. Immediately everyone was on their feet, with the exception of a star struck Brittany, as the rest of the dancers began matching the Latina beauty's moves, and soon made their way out into the audience. The woman danced directly down the middle of the long wooden floor, shooting lustful looks and winks at the men fawning over her. She progressed down the floor until she saw Brittany, the picture of beauty in a sapphire blue dress, staring at her from her seat. She made her way horizontally across the floor and through the crowds of drooling men until she was at Brittany's table. She locked eyes with the Duke, throwing her arms about his neck, dancing and spinning him until his back was to Brittany. The woman's chocolate eyes peered around the oblivious Duke as she stared firmly at Brittany. With a quick spin, she released herself from the Duke and slithered towards Brittany, grabbing her creamy white hand and yanking her to her feet. The woman danced seductively in front of her and then leaned in to whisper to Brittany, snaking her hands around her waist, her lips so close that they brushed her ear,

"What's the matter mon amour? You don't like my show?" Brittany took in a breath, trying to answer, but nothing came out as she felt the hands cascade gently down to her hips. She simply stared back, awestruck and speechless. However, as the dancer backed away, winking at her, Brittany could have sworn she saw her drop her head and blush slightly under her stare; but she was probably dreaming.

Rushing back up the floor, and springing onto stage, the woman once again linked the dancers and finished the number to an absolute roaring of applause. The house lights came up for intermission, and everyone at her table took their seats.

"We have to meet her." The Duke pronounced in an eerily intrigued tone. Still in her haze, Brittany simply nodded, and smiled distractedly,

"Yes…she's quite a talent."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you guys so much for all the support and the amazing reviews; they made this writer's day! Hope you enjoy this next chapter and let me know what you think **

Chapter 2:

By the end of the night, Brittany was practically bursting at the seams for the final performance to be over. Not only was she itching to find out if they would be able to meet that intoxicating woman that had stolen her composure, but the Duke was on his way to becoming the even less appealing drunk version of himself, and that was not company she longed to remain with. The Duke had a tendency to drink hard liquor; and drink it fast. Although he wasn't necessarily the first person she would choose to spend her free time with, Brittany didn't necessarily dislike the Duke when he was sober. It was an entirely different story when he was inebriated, however. The lustful, eerie grin he sometimes wore would find itself permanently glued to his mouth, and his pupils would widen, nearly consuming the irises, giving his eyes a hollow, penetrating look. His hands seemed to act of their own accord, as they would find every woman in his immediate vicinity fair game. He would grope at them, holding on a little too tight, a little too long, and he would swear and his face would burn hot, humiliated, and furious when they finally shook him off. When the Duke was drunk, he frightened Brittany.

Fortunately, the music ceased and the house lights came up permanently, and thus the drinks stopped being served before he could reach the point of no return; for now he simply remained in his boyish glow, harmlessly winking and smiling at passing dancers, and laughing loudly with his friends. They all rose from their seats and made their way boisterously towards the door, Brittany laughing and cajoling with the men, feeling a warm blush crawl up her own neck from the several glasses of chardonnay she had consumed. When they reached the door, they all stood putting on their coats as the Duke motioned the coat checker towards him,

"We want to speak with Marchand." He stated, smiling broadly and wrapping his arm snuggly about the young woman's shoulders.

"Sir, Monsieur Marchand, eez very busy zis time of evening," the girl managed in her thick Parisian accent. The Duke simply laughed and retorted,

"Yes, my dear girl, I'm sure the he eez," he winked to his friends as he playfully mocked the girl's accent, "but I'm quite sure that if you tell him the Duke of Warwickshire, and his lovely companion Mademoiselle Pierce have taken time out of their busy schedules to congratulate him on the success of his show, well I'm quite sure he would have time for that." The girl opened her mouth about to protest once again, but another girl near her who had clearly overheard the conversation quickly appeared at her side and interjected,

"Émilie, let zem in. 'Ello, my name is Clémence, if you will follow me, I will be more zan 'appy to show you to Monsieur Marchand's chambers." The new girl smiled warmly, and gestured with her hand towards a spiral staircase behind the desk. She began to ascend it, the Duke, Brittany, and company in tow. After climbing for what seemed like ages (Brittany assumed they must be spiraling up the inside of the famed windmill) they finally came to an elegantly crafted wooden door adorned with a large brass knocker. The girl stopped, grabbed the brass circle and knocked three times. A few seconds passed and a gruff voice bellowed,

"What is it?" The girl opened the door a crack and peaked in, quickly mumbling something in French to the disembodied voice inside, to which another gravely response was made,

"Yes, yes let them in." Clémence pulled her head out from inside the room, and opened the door widely, smiling and motioning them in. The gentlemen smiled and tipped their hats to her on their way past, and Brittany curtsied briefly and whispered her thanks. Blocked by the top-hat adorned heads of the men in front of her, Brittany could not get a proper view of the man who was currently speaking to the Duke,

"Aaah Duke, it's my pleasure. Please, come, sit, sit, make yourselves at home." The men parted and began to seat themselves about the room and Brittany got her first proper look of Amaury Marchand, the owner of the Moulin Rouge. He was very tall, about three or four inches taller than the Duke, Brittany reckoned. He was broad and barrel chested, with a bit of a belly, but not to the point where he could be called fat. His hair was of thick, shining silver waves which he greased back away from his face, and his beard was long and bushy, also of lustrous silver. He had shining green eyes and perfectly white, straight teeth. His voice was deep, rough and inherently masculine. He wore a simple white, button-down, collared shirt, black trousers and black suspenders, and a pair of fine leather slippers. Brittany could not help but think that he reminded her of a slightly more intimidating Father Christmas.

After turning his attention away from the Duke, Marchand got a good look at Brittany for the first time as well. Upon seeing her, he rushed over and clutched her hand, placing a delicate kiss on it,

"Mademoiselle Pierce! What an undeserved pleasure to have you grace my club! I have heard so much about you and the work your family has done. Please, come sit. Would you care for anything to drink?" Brittany curtsied slightly and smiled,

"No, thank you, I am fine. But I have heard quite a great deal about you and your club as well, and I must say I was not disappointed. You have arranged a…breathtaking show." Brittany smiled warmly, and Marchand beamed back, seemingly thrilled to have his life's work complimented by a woman of Brittany's reputation.

"Ah hem, yes," the Duke interjected, irritated as always that his presence was easily forgotten in Brittany's company, "as a matter of fact, I wanted to discuss with you the possibility of meeting one of the performers. I've taken a rather great interest in her, you see." That devious, lecherous smile flickered across the Duke's lips briefly. It wasn't there long enough for Marchand to notice, but Brittany did. Marchand laughed, and nodded his head knowingly,

"I am sure you mean Santana." he chuckled, "Mademoiselle Lopez is our newest starlet. She is the Latina one; tan skin, long black hair, she led the girls in the can-can."

"Yes, her! That's exactly the one," the Duke nodded fiercely, an excited spark igniting in his eyes. Suddenly, and inexplicably uncomfortable, Brittany cleared her throat gently,

"I would very much like to speak with her as well. I'm extremely interested in how one gets into this sort of field." The Duke glanced at her and frowned slightly, but then smiled forcedly and chirped,

"Yes, yes, the more the merrier!" Marchand smiled widely, holding his hand out to Brittany,

"Of course. Whatever the lady pleases. If you'll kindly follow me, I'll lead you to Santana's flat. She'll be delighted to meet you I'm sure."

Santana sat in her windowsill, cradling a glass of cognac in one hand and looking out at the glowing kerosene lamps that illuminated the Jardin, humming along contentedly to the slow waltz the band was playing. She raised the glass to her lips and sipped slowly at the amber liquid, letting the warm, fruity taste roll around her mouth and over her tongue before swallowing it. She loved performing, but she could only take so much of the loud, smoky atmosphere of the music hall; she much preferred to be alone or in the company of two or three people whose company she really enjoyed. After packed houses like tonight, filled with groping "gentlemen" and haughty high-society women, the solitude of her flat was perfect, and it seemed that nothing could disrupt this moment—until three sharp wraps and Amaury's gruff voice rang out from the other side of her door.

"Santana my dear!" he called jovially, "you have some very special guests that would like to congratulate you on tonight's performance!" Santana smiled, shaking her head slightly and sighing as she mentally bid farewell to her perfect moment, and began to make her way to the door. She placed her hand on the cool silver knob, stopping before turning it to arrange her lips into an ecstatic stage grin. Finally prepared, she opened the door to find Amaury accompanied by the beaming Duke she had danced with and the gaggle of other young men that had been at his table.

"Bonjour! My name is Santana, do come in." She opened the door to her flat and stepped aside to let them all enter, smiling and nodding in greeting at each of them individually as they passed her until, she was met with a pair of stunning blue eyes. Santana's smile faltered ever so slightly as the beautiful woman in the sapphire dress that had succeeded in making her blush earlier this evening stepped over her threshold. Quickly regaining her composure, Santana smiled and nodded to the blonde beauty as well, and gently shut the door behind her.

"Well," she smiled radiantly, turning to face her guests, "to whom do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Amaury stepped forward, motioning first to the Duke, who immediately vacated the chair he had placed himself in to run over and clutch Santana's hand.

"This is the Duke of Warwickshire," Amaury said delightedly, "he has taken quite an interest in your talents, my dear, and came directly to me to request a visit with you." The Duke bent and brushed his lips slowly over Santana's knuckles, lingering just a little too long. He glanced up at her and grinned,

"It is my pleasure Mademoiselle," he whispered. Santana did her best to hold her emotions, but the look in his eyes, the slight edge in his voice, and the eerily cold feel of his lips on her hand made her internally shiver. After what seemed an eternity, Amaury's warm voice was heard once again, and the Duke reluctantly removed himself from Santana,

"And this is Mademoiselle Brittany Pierce. I am sure you have heard of her. Her family owns the better part of London, and the Royal Navy owes a considerable amount of their ships to the funding of the Pierce family. You are also sixth in line to the throne, are you not Miss Pierce?" Santana's eyes instantly jumped to the elegant woman sitting on the day bed near her window,

"Fifth, actually." The woman's eyes remained locked on Santana's for a moment, then her gaze fell downwards into her lap, and a gentle rouge crept into her cheeks. Santana had heard of her, in fact. She had not heard, however, how beautiful she was. She wore an elegant silk dress that hugged her tall, lean form perfectly. Her skin was of the purest alabaster white, and her golden hair, tucked up into a sleek bun, shimmered in the dim lighting of Santana's room. Her thin, pink lips parted over a flawless set of teeth in a demure smile. And her eyes. Her eyes were the purest, most captivating shade of blue Santana had ever seen.

Suddenly noticing the several seconds of silence that had taken place, Santana shook herself from her daze and strode slowly over to greet the woman. Brittany rose and extended a delicate hand in one smooth motion. Santana reached out and gently clasped long, slender fingers between her own, bending at the hips to place a chaste kiss on a satiny cheek. She felt Brittany's other hand gently cup her elbow, and a soft pair of lips press gently to the skin right below her ear. Her breath hitched in her throat and her heart stumbled over a beat as a breathy whisper warmed her ear,

"Au contraire, mon amour. You're show took my breath away." Santana's face flushed instantly, and she let out a girlish giggle that surprised her. Standing erect once again, she let go of Brittany's hand,

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mademoiselle Pierce," she purred, inclining her head graciously towards her.

"Please," the blonde beauty laughed, "call me Brittany." Santana smiled and nodded. Realizing that she was being a terrible hostess, she turned to the rest of the group, smiling broadly once again. Amaury and the rest of the young men were chatting casually amongst themselves, fortunately seeming oblivious to the interaction that had just taken place. The Duke, however, had his eyes fastened to Santana as though they had never left, and his face wore a cold, knowing expression, and his boyish smile had shifted into a suspicious sneer. Santana snapped her gaze from him and swept her eyes over the rest of her guests, nervously clearing her throat,

"Would anyone care for a drink?" She was met with several enthusiastic affirmatives, "Fantastic! I'll be just a moment; the liquor cabinet and ice box are just in the adjoining room." She curtsied quickly and began to make her way to the door when she felt a firm, but gentle hand on her side,

"Let me help you," was offered sweetly in a gentle, sing-song voice. Startled, Santana turned her head and was met with an intoxicating smile and a pair of ocean blue orbs.

"Thank you," she beamed in return, and stood aside to open the door for the aristocrat. She glanced back at the rest of her visitors, and as she stepped out the door, she thought she could feel the heat prickling on her skin from the black fire that was burning in the Duke's unwavering eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the delay on this one, it was finals period. Thank you so much for reading everyone! Please keep the reviews coming. I love to hear what you guys think! Enjoy!**

Chapter 3:

Santana closed the door, and shook her head slightly, trying to physically shake loose the feeling of the Duke's lingering stare. Finally composed, she smiled at Brittany and gestured to a door just down the hallway,

"Please, right this way." Brittany smiled back at her and began to walk slowly towards the door. Santana followed closely and couldn't help but notice the elegance with which the tall blonde moved; her hips swayed gently back and forth, and she took long smooth strides with, Santana assumed, the probably gorgeous legs that were hiding beneath the flowing skirt of her dress. Her back was straight, and she held her head evenly, but not arrogantly as she strode. Santana thought that watching this woman walk was possibly one of the most beautiful things she had ever been witness to. Suddenly, Brittany came to an abrupt stop as they had reached the door, and a daydreaming Santana ran directly into her. Santana popped out of her daze with a start as she lost her balance and began to fall backward. She tried desperately to correct herself but to no avail. She closed her eyes and prepared for the ego bruising fall until she felt a strong arm loop securely around her waist and slender fingers grip tightly around her right bicep. She halted in mid-air and tentatively opened one eye to see Brittany's face centimeters from her own, giggling and smiling a brilliant smile that stole all the way up to her eyes. Santana's senses were ablaze as she took in the woman before her. Her hair glowed gently like liquid gold and her eyes shot a feeling of warmth and home through Santana, as they were the pure blue of the oceans of her youth. Her perfume filled Santana's nose with the sweet, tantalizing smell of gardenia. Santana knew her mouth was probably hanging open, but she really didn't care. Too soon for her liking, the blonde gave a firm tug and pulled an awestruck Santana soundly to her feet. Santana took in a quivering breath; she felt as though her skin was on fire in the most delightful way from the smoldering touch of Brittany's hands still lingering on her body.

"I thought dancers were supposed to be graceful?" Brittany winked down at her and casually released her from her hold. Quickly gathering her wits, Santana laughed and retorted,

"That's only required on stage. Behind the scenes, we usually don't make it through the day without a tumble or two." Santana beamed when her remark was rewarded with a shimmering laugh from the blonde beauty, and she confidently strode forward to open the door for her. Brittany nodded her thanks and entered the cozy room housed with a small sink, a merlot colored velvet arm chair accompanied by a petite side table, a very old and rather dusty book shelf, and a beautiful mahogany liquor cabinet. Santana made her way to the liquor cabinet, grabbed the tiny brass key that rested on top and opened it up. She reached inside and pulled out a small silver tray and grabbed a bottle of her less expensive cognac, a bottle of red wine, and a tiny green vile of absinthe. She grabbed several glasses and placed them on the tray as well, then stood and turned to leave. When Santana turned around, she found Brittany engaged in the bookshelf, casually browsing its contents. Santana cleared her throat softly to get the woman's attention,

"See anything you like?" Brittany nodded and pulled a thin, leather-bound book from the shelf and walked towards Santana, opening to a page quickly enough that it indicated a familiarity with the work.

"Walt Whitman, the American poet," she stated, "is one of my favorites. Most people find him too forward, but I think he is brilliant. My favorite poem begins, "A woman waits for me-"

"She contains all, nothing is lack." Santana finished, and smiled at a clearly surprised Brittany who had abruptly turned her gaze from the page to Santana's face when she spoke.

"So, these are your books then?" Brittany asked, gesturing to the shelf, filled to the brim with literature.

"Yes," Santana nodded excitedly, "I love to read. I must've read that one in particular twenty times. It is one of my favorites. This, however," she said, setting down the tray and its contents in the chair and brushing past a dazed Brittany towards the bookshelf, "is my absolute favorite." Santana stood on her tips toes, reaching to the very top shelf, struggling to grab a small, blue book with gold writing on the spine, only to have her tawny hand covered with a soft, white one. Santana turned her head to see Brittany laughing and shaking her head in mock exasperation,

"Why don't you let me get it?" Santana nodded and quickly averted her eyes to the floor in an attempt to conceal the fact that she was blushing fiercely.

"Here," Brittany said, handing her the book. Santana took it and flipped from memory to a crinkled and dog eared page and began to read aloud,

"She walks in beauty, like the night, Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright, Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light, Which heaven to gaudy day denies." She looked up to see Brittany staring down at her with a gaze that was penetrating. Santana thought she felt herself shiver under those cool blue eyes, but she couldn't say that it was in a bad way. And soon, Santana found she could not tear her eyes away; she gazed back at Brittany, taking in every detail of her face. She traced the gentle curve of her brow, the straight line of her nose, the sparkling silver-grey flecks in her irises, the visible rose-petal like softness of her lips. Santana realized her breathing had grown heavy and she could feel the heat from a deep, pleasurable burning somewhere low in her abdomen, slithering out over her skin. Before she even realized what she was doing, she had lowered the book and taken a step forward, raising her free hand slowly but surely to the tall beauties face. Santana's left hand gently cupped the satiny flesh of Brittany's cheek, and the pad of her thumb grazed gently over her cheekbone. Santana smiled and inched closer when Brittany almost instinctively closed her eyes and made a gentle sighing sound, subtly tilting her head into the warmth of Santana's hand. The heat erupted once again, but this time from Santana's palm as she felt smooth, pink lips brush sweetly against it. Brittany's eyes opened once again, but this time instead of the cool gaze, Santana saw the fire she felt burning within her reflected back in blue fire. And then the door burst open.

Brittany's face suddenly felt naked as she watched Santana whip her hand away, simultaneously dropping the book in her right hand and spinning on her heels to grab the tray from its place on the chair. Brittany snapped her head around to see Monsieur Marchand filling the doorway with his burly figure, his furrowed brow and slack jaw conveying the battle between shock and understanding that was raging in his brain. Brittany flashed him a brief smile then bent to pick up the book, holding it out so he could see the title when she had picked it up,

"It's Lord Byron, one of my favorites!" She exclaimed a little too enthusiastically. "Santana was kind enough to show me her first edition of it. It's marvelous, really." Marchand immediately plastered a polite grin on his face and nodded, playing along with anything the aristocrat wished,

"Aaah yes! Our Santana is quite the book worm! I'm glad you two have found some common ground. It would be wonderful to see your lovely face around the Moulin more often Mademoiselle Pierce. But, if you ladies would kindly accompany me back to the other room, you have some thirsty young men awaiting you." Brittany laughed airily and began to follow a still silent Santana towards the door. As Santana passed Marchand, Brittany's sharp eyes caught the small interaction that took place between them; Marchand shot Santana a stern and knowing look, and Santana dropped her eyes and nodded wordlessly. Brittany's brow furrowed slightly, but she immediately rectified her appearance as Monsieur Marchand returned his gaze to her, smiling broadly once again as if nothing had happened. Brittany walked out the door and he closed it firmly behind them.

They entered the room to find the Duke and the young men laughing and talking animatedly. Upon hearing the door, the Duke immediately whipped around, locking his gaze on Santana with the precision and ferocity of a foxhound, and promptly sprung to his feet. He sped towards her, hands outstretched, and took the tray from her, his lips curling into a toothy smirk, his dark eyes glinting in the light. Brittany watch an uncomfortable half smile play shortly over Santana's lips as she handed him the tray, then quickly made her way to the chair farthest from where he was seated. As the Duke turned to serve drinks to his lackeys, he paused briefly as his eyes found Brittany. She was doing her best to smile and appear normal, but she internally panicked as she saw his smile falter and his eyebrows knit together momentarily; he must have picked up on the tension in the room and seen the fear and adrenaline that was pumping so clearly through both Brittany and her raven haired accomplice. Thankfully, the Duke looked away and he jumped joyously back into the conversation, pouring a round of wine as he did so. Brittany said a silent prayer as two of the other young men took the small container of absinthe, divided it between two glasses, and downed it in one shot; the Duke would have to make due with less potent liquor.

The Duke passed everyone a glass of wine, and the conversation sparked once again. Brittany contributed as she was called upon, but otherwise remained quiet, only feigning engagement as she stole furtive glances at a silently smoldering Santana. Santana also commented and chatted when a question was directed at her, but other than that she seemed occupied only with controlling the intake of her breath. Brittany made sure she did not stare for too great a length of time, breaking her surveys of the gorgeous brunette with surveys of the lavish one room flat that they were residing in, but each time she tore her eyes away they ached even more to be returned to the only thing in the room really deserving of sight.

Finally, an hour and several glasses of wine later, the Duke released Brittany from her internal torment by rising and bidding Monsieur Marchand farewell,

"Well sir, it has been a marvelous evening, but we must be on our way." He practically bounced over to Marchand in his alcohol induced joy, shaking his hand vigorously and leaning up to clap the older gentlemen on the shoulder and whisper something in his ear. Marchand smiled, tight lipped and nodded. The Duke laughed jovially, and then made his way to Santana,

"This evening has been nothing short of divine, Mademoiselle. I hope we will see each other again very soon." He clasped her small hand once again, this time in both of his large ones, and bent down to swipe his lips slowly over the back of her hand once again. Santana smiled politely and curtsied, thanking him. And then it was Brittany's turn to say goodbye. She made her way to Marchand and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek,

"Thank you so much Monsieur. Your kindness has been greatly appreciated. It would be my great honor to return next week, if you would so allow. I would greatly appreciate a tour of your magnificent theater." Marchand smiled genuinely and held her hand warmly,

"It would be an honor my dear. I look forward to it." Brittany smiled once again, and turned to face Santana. She began the journey towards her, and Santana started forward as well. They met, and Brittany took a deep breath to secure herself as Santana fearlessly took her hand and leaned up to place her lips on the skin below Brittany's ear, mimicking her own gesture from earlier that night. But the words she spoke were different,

"A woman waits for me." She placed a gentle, lingering kiss, and Brittany bent her head to return the motion, and whispered,

"She contains all, nothing is lack." She ended with a soft peck, and a squeeze of Santana's slim fingers. She righted herself and spoke, this time loudly enough for everyone else to here,

"It has been a pleasure Miss Lopez. I do hope our paths will cross again soon." Santana let go of her hand and flashed her brilliant white teeth,

"It was a great pleasure Miss Pierce. I look forward to seeing you again." Brittany took one last look into those deep brown eyes, and then used every ounce of strength within her body to tear herself away. She spun quickly and tried to maintain a reasonable pace as she proceeded towards the door. She finally crossed the threshold, Marchand throwing out a final farewell and closing the door behind them. Brittany breathed in a sigh of relief that she had survived that interaction without bursting into flames. The Duke looked over at her and his lips parted into an arrogant sneer,

"I have asked Marchand to arrange a private meeting between Mademoiselle Lopez and myself." Brittany's head snapped around as if she'd been slapped, and she knew the Duke could see the pure terror that had gripped her eyes. She continued to stare at him, willing Marchand to have said no as she waited for his answer.

"And he has agreed." The Duke breathed out victoriously, placing his hat on his head and beginning his descent down the stairs, leaving Brittany quivering and breathless outside Santana's door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for continuing to read everyone! Keep those reviews coming! I love reading them :) Hope you enjoy this chapter! P.S. I did my research and the song is actually one from the 1890s. It's called "When you were sweet sixteen" Listen to The Celtic Angels or Christine Browne version if you can. Enjoy!**

Chapter 4:

The carriage bumped clumsily over the cobblestone streets, the horses' hooves clip-clopping rhythmically and the driver calling out loudly in French to clear a path through swarming pedestrians. Yet, over all the hubbub, Brittany could hear her heart hammering relentlessly in her ears. It had been five days since she had first entered the Moulin Rouge, but it felt like an eternity. Day and night, images of full red lips, and coffee black eyes curtained by flowing raven hair, danced within her mind. It was like an incantation had been placed over her; she could not focus, she had a dull, aching hunger constantly churning in the pit of her stomach, and she went from being a giddy school girl to feeling so empty that her body was sure to cave in on itself. She had no idea what was wrong with her, but somehow she felt seeing Santana again would abate those pains. All of those feelings converged on her as she looked out the window, counting down the building numbers until they would read **82 Boulevard de Clichy**; the Moulin Rouge. When the carriage finally came to a creaky halt, Brittany practically knocked over her doorman as she blew by him in a whirlwind of loose blonde ringlets and fine yellow lace. She walked purposefully up the long, red carpet that led to the clubs doorway, and a greeter tilted his hat to her and let her in. A young woman standing at the coat check counter greeted her happily and took her white silk shawl, placing it safely behind the desk. The woman looked back up at her with a smile and expectant eyes,

"How may I help you today Mademoiselle?" she asked cheerily. Brittany forced a polite smile, and spoke quickly, wanting to get the proverbial "show on the road" in her desperate hope that that road might end in luscious caramel skin and a dazzling pearly smile.

"My name is Brittany Pierce. I have an appointment with Monsieur Marchand." The woman's eyes widened slightly at Brittany's name, and she suddenly became a bundle of excited nerves in her presence.

"Ah yes! Mademoiselle Pierce, of course! We have been expecting you. Monsieur Marchand is supervising rehearsal in the grand music hall right now. If you will accompany me, I will gladly show you to him." The young woman hurried out from behind the counter and began to make her way towards said hall. Brittany kept in step and shortly they were entering through the large archway she had been through on her first night. The hall looked exactly the same as it had on that night, the only difference being the startling lack of bodies and noise. The anxious excitement of that night had transformed into a beautiful vacancy. The echoing of Brittany and the coat checker's heels clicking in unison down the empty dance floor had almost a mournful sound to it. After casually scanning the room, Brittany's gaze returned to the front, and she smiled as her gaze rested upon Marchand. His burly stature was dwarfing the chair that he sat in at the top of the hall in the middle of the dance floor, his arms crossed firmly over his chest and his stern eyes trained on the stage in front of him. He seemed absolutely oblivious to the loud clacking coming up behind him, and when Brittany's eyes lifted to the stage, she immediately understood why. A group of dancers in short, tight, corseted black dresses, fish-net stockings, and calf consuming black leather boots gyrated in perfect synchronization atop the dimly lit stage to a heavy drum beat. The beat died and their number came to an end and they all vacated the stage. Then, every light went down and the curtain closed. When it opened, in the beam of a single spotlight, Santana stood in front of microphone. Brittany's audible gasp caused the coat checker to turn her head and give her an inquisitive look. Brittany thoroughly ignored her, her attention dedicated to the woman before her. Santana shone like a diamond under the single spotlight in a long, curve hugging, white silk gown. Her tawny skin complemented the ivory fabric as toe to thigh of her right leg teased in and out of the slit in the material as she gently swayed her hips to the soft tune on the piano that had just begun. Her hair was straight and pulled entirely over one shoulder, hanging down loosely like black velvet. Her makeup was once again flawless, but this time her lips had no color other than their natural one, but only a thin layer of lacquer that made them shine. Brittany locked eyes with those hooded russet ones, and Santana gave a subtle wink; whether it was directed at her or just part of the performance, Brittany did not know. She smiled nonetheless. Then, Santana's lips parted and Brittany was sure her heart stopped at the voice that escaped from them. Santana's voice had a soft, longing, coarseness to it, and the song she sang flowed from her like she was opening the music box of her soul to the world.

"_When first__I__saw the love light in your eye  
>I dreamt the world held naught but joy for me<br>And even though we drifted far apart  
>I never dream, but what<em>_I__dream of thee_

_I love you as __I__ never loved before  
>Since first I met you on the village green<br>Come to me or my dream of love is __O__'er  
>I love you as <em>_I__ loved you,  
>When you were sweet<br>When you were sweet sixteen_

_Last night I dreamt I held your hand in mine  
>And once again you were my happy bride<br>I kissed you as I did in Auld Lang Syne  
>As to the church we wandered side by side<em>

_I love you as I never loved before  
>Since first I met you on the village green<br>Come to me or my dream of love is O'er  
>I love you as I loved you,<br>When you were sweet  
>When you were sweet sixteen"<em>

As the last echoes of Santana's words faded from the hall, and the sound of the piano died, Brittany reached up to wipe away the tears cascading down her cheeks. She sobbed gently, and quietly, but with a radiant smile on her face. Santana's voice had filled her with a warmth that she hadn't experienced at any of the operas, any of the ballets, any of the performances of the Royal Shakespeare Company, that she had been dragged to oh so many times. Santana continued to stare at Brittany until Marchand jumped up abruptly, twiddling his beard between his thumb and forefinger and pacing back and forth.

"I don't know," he grumbled, his voice clearly audible for the perfect acoustics of the hall. "It was beautifully done Santana, as always, but I just don't know if it will reach our audience. Sad is not the mood of the Moulin Rouge. And it's in English. I just don't know. You were right, it is beautiful but…" Marchand continued to pace, shaking his head slightly. Santana lifter her head once again to smile at Brittany,

"Why don't you ask her," Santana raised her hand to gesture down the long floor, "I believe she liked it." Marchand's head snapped around and his knotted brow smoothed immediately and his face broke out in a broad, genuine grin as he caught sight of Brittany. He strode joyously toward her, hands outstretched to greet her,

"Ah Mademoiselle Pierce!" he bellowed, his voice booming throughout the hall, "I am so glad you arrived safely. Pardon my distraction; normally I would have greeted you at the door for our appointment but Santana here stole me away to propose a new song to me." Marchand looped his arm casually around Brittany's shoulders, turning so that he was facing Santana as well, "And with a voice like hers, how could I resist hearing a song, no?" Marchand winked at Santana and she laughed, waving her arm at him as if she was swatting away his compliment.

"Oh Amaury," she smiled, walking away from the microphone and towards the stairs on the side of the stage, "you patronize me old man!" she jabbed at him lovingly. Amaury's laughter boomed off the walls, and Brittany could not help but join in. Santana's ivory heels clicked down the floor as she came towards the pair.

"So," the Latina piped up, "to what pleasure do we owe your visit Brittany? It is lovely to see you again so soon." Brittany smiled brightly,

"It is lovely too see you too, Santana. You're performance was absolutely incredible." Santana, bowed her head graciously, as she stopped in front of the two. "I am here because Monsieur Marchand promised me a tour of your dazzling workplace."

"Ah, excellent choice," Santana said nodding, "the Moulin is a magnificent place, and the parts decorated to please the guests are not even its most stunning features in my opinion." Marchand smiled and nodded his agreement,

"Yes, no one knows the inner workings of this place quite like our Santana."

"In fact," Santana jumped in excitedly, "maybe I should be the one to give Miss Pierce the tour." Marchand's smile faltered the slightest bit, as he looked between the two women staring intently at each other.

"Well…" he drawled, "I suppose that is a good idea. I do have some financial matters to attend to…. Yes, Mademoiselle Pierce why don't you accompany Santana. Just have her back by eight Santana, I have promised her a fine dinner; on the house of course." Marchand winked at Brittany, and she smiled appreciatively at him. "However, I do need a quick word with you about…your…your performance before you leave Santana." Santana's faced dropped ever so slightly. Brittany watched as Marchand placed his hand on the small of Santana's back to guide her gently away, holding up a finger to Brittany to indicate she should wait one moment. Lost in her bliss that she was about to get a private tour from Santana, Brittany did not notice the harsh look that overtook Marchand's face as he turned his attention back to Santana.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everybody! Thanks so much for continuing to read, and I really appreciate all the reviews, so keep 'em coming! Sorry there was a bit of a delay, the holidays are hectic. But I hope you all had a fantastic holiday, and, as always, enjoy!**

Chapter 5:

Santana looked over at Brittany waiting for her in her yellow lace gown, bouncy blonde ringlets cascading over her shoulders and down her back, and a contented smile hung lazily on her lips as she looked around the hall with curious eyes; she was glowing, as always. She watched the blonde turn lazily, her eyes falling expectantly to her, and Santana shot her a quick smile and a wink before turning her attention to Amaury, towering in front of her.

"Now you listen to me Santana," he whispered with the harshness of a scolding parent, "I saw what was going on in that room the first night she was here, and don't you think I don't know you probably started it. We have had this conversation before; I don't care what you do or where your…appetites…lean, but I cannot allow it with her. If word gets around that my lead dancer, the young woman I adopted, has corrupted the daughter of Alexander Pierce, my reputation, this club, and your dreams will be shattered in an instant. So you need to keep yourself in check Santana. Forget about her and focus on how you plan to deal with the Duke, because whether you like it or not, you are going to have to deal with it sooner rather than later; he will not wait forever." Amaury stared at her unwaveringly, waiting for a response. Santana's lip curled slightly in distaste and she spat back,

"Amaury, I have never asked you for anything! I have been at your bidding for twelve years, and never have I asked for so much as a slice of bread without working for it. But this…_her_, I'm begging you, please just let me see where it goes. Please. If you claim you saw what you did in that room that night then you saw the look in her eyes as well. I'm not out to ruin your life, but if you keep her from me you'll ruin mine. And as for the Duke, why is it so important that I meet with him? I have not interest in him, he is inconsequential." Amaury laughed derisively at her, rolling his eyes at her naivety.

"Inconsequential? Santana, you forget who brought you Miss Pierce in the first place; the Duke. He is her father's right hand man, and…" Amaury's eyes closed as if her were in pain and he sighed deeply, "…and he knows. The only reason I agreed to a private session between the two of you was because he made it very clear to me that he could see what your intentions with Mademoiselle Pierce were, and that her father would be none too pleased to hear of it. So if you want to continue whatever you believe you have with her, which I highly recommend you do not, then you had better give the Duke what he wants. He is not a forgiving man and he does not take kindly to being denied what he wants. You think about that Santana. Now go, she's waiting for you." Amaury abruptly turned from her, waved a curt goodbye to Brittany, and strode from the hall. Santana stood blinking in shock. _He knows, _she thought. Images of the Duke's sneer, the feeling of his clammy lips on her skin, flashed across her mind and she gave a slight shiver; that was not the worst of it. The worst would be what was to come.

Suddenly, she was snapped out of her nightmare by a soft hand on the bare skin of her shoulder. She turned to see Brittany's blue eyes looking down at her, swimming with worry. Santana quickly shook the lingering fears away, and couldn't help but smile brightly back at the gorgeous woman before her.

"Is everything all right?" Brittany asked her worriedly. "You look…flustered." Santana lifted a hand and reassuringly patted the one resting on her shoulder.

"Yes, yes," she nodded, "I'm fine. Amaury just told me he had decided not to use the song I just audition. I'm just disappointed. It's one of my favorites." Brittany's face immediately relaxed,

"Ah, that is a shame. It was very beautiful Santana. I did not know you could sing. You were absolutely brilliant!" Santana blushed fiercely, and smiled gratefully at Brittany,

"Thank you very much, but you flatter me. I just really enjoy singing, that's all that matters to me. Do you sing?" Santana asked curiously. Brittany waved her hands as if warding off even the idea of singing,

"Oh no, not at all. I've never even tried except for small lullabies that I sing to my nieces and nephews, but I am sure I am quite terrible." She shrugged and laughed at her own musical misfortune in the most adorable manner Santana could possibly imagine.

"I don't believe you." Santana stated firmly, and the blonde cocked a startled eyebrow at her. "Everyone can sing. You just have to find it." The woman smiled at her, still shaking her head slightly, and just as she looked like she was about to speak her protests again, Santana grabbed her hand,

"Maybe we will find it for you somewhere in the Moulin," she smiled. "Let's begin our tour, shall we?" Brittany's lips parted in a broad smile that climbed all the way to her eyes and she nodded enthusiastically. Santana lead her through a door on the left wall in the back of the music hall. Upon entering, they were in a long, but narrow hallway with doors all along the left side.

"This hall," Santana indicated, making a sweeping "u" gesture with her hand, "loops all the way around the outside of the music hall. All of the rooms off of it are either storage, employee lodging, or serve a purpose such as dressing rooms for the show." Santana still clutched Brittany's hand tightly, relishing even the slightest contact. She lead her to the third door down, and opened it, motioning her in and smiling as she heard a soft "Oh my" escape Brittany's lips. The room was plastered, wall to wall with costumes. The bright, rainbow of fabrics glowed in the flickering light of the miniscule chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Santana watched as Brittany swept excitedly around the room, running her fingers gently over the gowns, lingerie, bustiers, and skirts. The delicate fingers paused over a particularly skimpy piece of lingerie, and Brittany lifted it slightly from the wall so Santana could distinguish it from the others. Santana looked up from the garment to Brittany's face, which had grown seven shades of red from merely touching the sheer, black lace. Santana smirked as the blonde cleared her throat and stammered,

"Do…do you actually…wear this?" Santana couldn't help but laugh at the innocent tones of incredulity in Brittany's voice. Santana smiled widely and nodded,

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I wear it quite often. It's not as bad as you'd think. After your first couple performances you just get used to the staring, and the grabbing and it doesn't really matter what you're wearing anymore." Brittany nodded, but still seemed unconvinced. "I swear," Santana giggled, slowly approaching Brittany, "if you tried it on you would see." Brittany's hands flew from the garment as though it were on fire, and her head was a blur as she jerked it back and forth, a high pitched "Oh, no!" erupting from her lips. Santana hadn't meant to startle her to this degree, but still she couldn't help doubling over in laughter. After she regained her composure and righted herself, she could see through bleary eyes filled with tears of laughter, Brittany, arms crossed, brow furrowed, eyes intensely boring into Santana, and her lips set in a firm, tight line. Seeing the embarrassed rage on the blonde's face, Santana clapped one hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the remnants of her laughter, and extended the other, palm facing upwards in a peace offering.

"Oh, Brittany, I'm sorry." Santana whispered as she moved closer to the irritated woman before her. "It was just a joke, I swear. I would never make you try that thing on. Please forgive me. Besides," a soft, placating smile spread over Santana's lips, "you are far too elegant to wear a piece of trash like that. You deserve nothing less than our finest. You need…" Santana trailed off as she brushed past Brittany and made her way to the back wall of the room. It took several minutes of pawing, but she finally found it. She spun around to face Brittany, whose face had gone back to its normal alabaster, and her features were less stony. When she saw the gown, Brittany's face lit up. Santana stepped towards her, the delicate dress resting over her extended forearms.

"Here," Santana said, holding out the dress for Brittany to take, "try this on." Brittany's eyes, a mix of excitement and astonishment, flitted between the peace offering and Santana's face.

"Oh, I…I don't know Santana…what if I rip it? It's so beautiful…I don't want anything to happen to it." Santana lifted her arms slightly higher, pushing the gown closer to Brittany,

"You won't rip it," she assured. "I mean, if clumsy ole me can wear it, you will be just fine." Brittany smiled, and reached forward tentatively, barely placing her fingers on the material. "Go on," Santana whispered, "take it." Brittany finally scooped up the garment, striding to the back of the room and ducking behind the dressing partition there. Santana bemusedly watched Brittany's silhouette undress itself and then ever so carefully slide into the gown. When she was done, Brittany poked her head out from one side of the partition,

"Are you ready?" She questioned Santana, winking at her. Santana laughed, and nodded,

"I think I'm ready."

She was not ready.

Brittany emerged from behind the canvas, and for a moment, Santana thought she had died; she was sure her heart had stopped, but more than that it couldn't be possible that this kind of beauty existed on earth. Brittany actually glowed. The gentle light of the chandelier shimmered off every surface of her body; the honey curls streaming down her shoulders, the milky white of her perfect skin, and the shimmering gold of the silk gown that seemed to fit her body as if she were born wearing it. The dress started in a roped halter around her neck, intertwining in a small knot at the front, and then forking again to cover her breasts, but leaving the skin of her sternum quite visible. The gown hung simply down the front, the material rippling and glimmering with each gentle stroke of her legs against it as she approached Santana. Santana's breath hitched in her throat as Brittany stopped just in front of her, and did a slow spin that seemed to put a hitch in time. Brittany's back was completely bare; Santana's eyes found every muscle, every shadow, every adorable freckle and tiny scar as her eyes trailed from shoulder to hips of the perfect field of snowy flesh before her. Santana could not take her eyes off the woman before her, no matter how hard she tried. She could feel that she was being rude, staring the way she was, but she could do nothing else. The sight of Brittany, rippling like a mirage in the light, incited a fervent stirring deep within her; it felt as though her bones itched. She was glued to the floor, unable to move, but every muscle in her body wanted nothing more than to spring forward, every nerve was aching to feel the soft heat from the human sun shining before her. Then, the warm glow before her eyes was replaced with cool, soothing blue, as Brittany ducked her head and looked Santana directly in the eyes, shaking her slightly.

"Santana!" she bellowed, and as Santana woke from her haze, she realized Brittany must have been speaking to her for quite some time to have had to reach that volume. "Santana, are you all right? Do I really look that terrible? Say something, please!" Brittany's eyes held genuine concern as she looked down at her own form self-consciously, then pleadingly back at Santana.

"Aglaea," it was out of Santana's mouth before her mind could even register that she was speaking. Brittany's eyes, widened in sadness, and her face visibly dropped as she stepped back from Santana.

"Ugly?" Brittany whimpered, clearly hurt at what she had thought Santana said. The pain on Brittany's face slapped Santana out of her daze and she quickly rushed forward, grasping Brittany's hands in her own and shaking her head furiously.

"No! No, no! Not 'ugly', Aglaea. Quite the opposite of ugly actually." Santana gazed at Brittany, who only glanced up at her, her head hanging dejectedly. Santana removed one hand from Brittany's and cupped her chin,

"Aglaea," Santana cooed softly, "was the youngest of the three Charites in Greek mythology. She was the goddess of beauty, splendor, glory, magnificence and adornment. She was also an attendent to Aphrodite; she was her messenger…the messenger of love." Santana lifted Brittany's chin gently, searching for those baby blues. Brittany finally met her gaze, a smile just as glowing as everything else about her was now gracing her lips, and quiet, gentle tears were streaming down her face. Santana felt her face contort immediately into a frown at the tears, a pain wrenching just below her ribs at the thought that she had caused them. She reached up quickly, wiping the tears away,

"I'm so sorry, I-"

"No," Brittany cut her off, "they're good tears Santana. That is the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me." Santana felt herself blush furiously, and it was her turn to drop her gaze to the floor. She watched as Brittany slid her hands smoothly back into her own and gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Now," Brittany said in a louder, mock-assertive tone, "this room, while it has been nice is not a tour. And you promised me a tour Santana, and I expect to get what I was promised." Santana laughed, but then stood up straight and saluted at the playful sternness she found in Brittany's eyes.

"Yes, ma'am!" She barked, standing at attention.

"Now, let me just go change and we will be on our way." Brittany said curtly. She spun on her heels and took a step in the direction of the partition. Santana lurched forward and her hand shot out grabbing one of Brittany's, pulling her to a stop and slightly closer into her own body.

"No," Santana almost shouted, "I…I'd like it if you left it on…" the last part of her sentence was barely audible, and Brittany had inclined her head very close to Santana's just to hear her. Santana looked up to see soft pink lips spread into a dazzling smile, and sparkling blue eyes inches from her own.

"Anything for you," Brittany murmured, softly stroking Santana's thumb with her own, as she slowly closed the distance between their lips.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks again for all the amazing reviews! Please continue, they really make my day Sorry for the delay again, I've been very busy. Enjoy this chapter and I look forward to hearing what you think!**

Chapter 6:

Brittany's eyes fluttered closed and she felt her heart stutter in anticipation for the soft warmth of Santana's lips she was sure to feel on her own at any moment. But she didn't. Instead she felt the blunt impact of the heels of Santana's hands against her chest, pushing her backwards, pushing her away. Her eyes flew open and she stared at Santana's back, completely bewildered. Santana had turned to face the wall of garments once again and looked completely preoccupied. Brittany brought her hands to her chest, rubbing gently. It hadn't hurt where Santana had hit her, but she was doing her best to coax her shattered heart back to life. Brittany's eyes remained trained on Santana's back, her mind racing through every possible reason that Santana had pushed her away; she could think of many. After all, what would a beautiful, talented, mysterious, outgoing woman like Santana possibly want with her? Maybe she hadn't read the situation correctly to begin with. Maybe Santana was only being nice, entertaining the guests as she had been trained to do. Of course; Brittany was nothing more than a client to Santana. She hung her head, and began to slowly turn towards the door, ready to make her permanent exit from the Moulin Rouge. She began her retreat to the door when it flung open, almost knocking her over. Startled, she tumbled backwards, almost falling, until she felt Santana's firm hand on the small of her back.

"Watch yourself Brittany, these boys will run you over!" Two modestly dressed young men pushing a rack brimming with costumes bustled through the door, tipping their hats at the two women and smiling briefly before beginning to unload the dresses and transfer them to their proper homes amongst the ones that already adorned the room. Santana's hand on her back burned almost as hot as the embarrassment that was beginning to blossom in rosy buds on her cheeks, and she turned her head just enough to shoot Santana a steely gaze before storming from the room. She heard Santana's singsong voice through the open door,

"Well, uh, we will just get out of your hair and let you boys get to work! Au revoir!" Brittany lengthened her gate as she heard heels clicking down the hallway after her. When she felt the vice-like grip on her wrist, Brittany' turned and spat,

"What? What do you want?" Santana stumbled back a few steps, clearly startled by the venom in Brittany's voice. Then, her dark eyes clouded over into a thunderous look and she crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

"What are you so upset about? I thought you'd be thankful for saving you a great deal of embarrassment back there!" Santana spoke harshly, waiting impatiently for a response.

"Save me…? What are you talking about?" Brittany mumbled, genuinely confused by the anger in Santana voice and appearance.

"I heard them wheeling that rickety old cart down the hallway and knew they would come through the door any second. I didn't think it would be good for your reputation if word got around that you were seen kissing one of the trollops from the Moulin Rouge." Brittany was sure that Santana could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to put the pieces together. Further embarrassment registered on her face when it clicked into place. Santana _had_ saved her a great deal of embarrassment. Whatever this was, this thing with Santana, she certainly wanted to continue it; but privately. Brittany felt herself blush even further as the shame of yelling at her savior welled up inside of her. However, the guilt didn't last long as Santana let out a small, embarrassed noise of her own and the words began to tumble out of her mouth.

"Oh no. Oh no no no no no…" Santana paced back and forth, hand over her mouth, muffling her words slightly. A surprised and confused Brittany could only stand and watch until Santana's pacing stopped abruptly and her head whipped around, brown eyes locking on blue.

"You were going to kiss me, weren't you?" The question issues softly, timidly from her lips, and Brittany sees the mixture of fear, anticipation, and hope swirling in those deep brown pools.

"Because if you weren't, I've really gone and embarrassed myself haven't I? You're not saying anything…well it seems I have really done it now! You weren't going to, and I'm a fool for thinking that you ever would. I'm so sorry Brittany can you please forgi-" Santana was silenced as Brittany clapped her hand over her mouth. Brittany giggled softly and smiled down at the frazzled woman before her.

"I was going to Santana. Calm down." Brittany slowly removed her hand to unveil the brilliant smile she so loved.

"Oh…" Santana grinned at her, her voice positively bubbly with glee, "Well let's continue our tour then, shall we?" Brittany smiled and motioned her arm down the hallway,

"Lead the way Miss Lopez." Brittany's heart hummed contentedly as Santana once again slipped her hand into her own to lead the way, only this time she gently laced her fingers through Brittany's.

Santana lead Brittany down the hallway further, taking a right hand turn so they would now be along the back wall of the music hall, behind the stage. Santana stopped at a door in the center of the hallway, and Brittany lunged forward to open it for her but found it firmly locked. Santana giggled and gave her an appreciative smile for her effort. Brittany was about to drop her gaze to the floor, embarrassed once again, until she saw Santana's right hand rest on the skin of her chest, and gently snake its way towards her breasts. Unsure but unquestioning of what was happening before her, Brittany watched with undivided attention as Santana's hand dipped into the swoop of fabric that cradled her left breast. Brittany felt and heard herself swallow hard, and she was sure she was breaking bones in Santana's hand that was still in her own as she watched Santana's fingers reappear from the fabric. A key. She had retrieved a small, silver key and held it out to Brittany, who looked not at it, but back up at a smugly grinning Santana,

"It's locked. Would you like to try again?" Slightly miffed that she had just been so thoroughly and successfully taunted, Brittany let go of Santana's left hand, which she saw her flex and attempt to rub away the angry white marks she had left there, and snatched the key from her outstretched right hand. She marched forward and swiftly unlocked the door, holding it open for Santana. Santana glided to the entrance and stopped, palm open,

"My key?" she asked politely. Never missing an opportunity for revenge, Brittany's lips spread in a tantalizing smile as she sauntered into Santana's personal space, holding the key between her fingertips, just level with Santana's gaze. Then, she dipped her hand slowly to her own chest, and tucked it into the exact location it had been on Santana's body.

"I think I'll keep it for now." Santana's eyes positively burned with desire as she lifted them from Brittany's chest back to her eyes. Brittany smiled even broader, seeing her gesture had the desired effect. Santana smirked and cocked an eyebrow at Brittany,

"Touché," she purred, inclining her head in mock defeat. "Now," Santana said, righting herself and gently guiding Brittany through the door with a soft hand on the bare skin of her lower back, "if you will kindly follow me up the stairs we can continue our tour Mademoiselle Pierce." Brittany looked passed Santana to see a long, winding staircase, very similar to the one leading to Marchand's apartment in the windmill, and she assumed this one would take them somewhere in the top of the club.

"Of course," Brittany chirped, bringing her attention back to Santana. The brunette began her ascent of the staircase and Brittany followed closely in pursuit. Brittany felt a complete lecher, but she could not help the fact that her gaze fixated on every move of Santana's body. She watched the wiry muscles in her shoulders and biceps gently flex as she gripped the dark, wooden railing. Her eyes trailed down the all too small 'v' of skin that the slit in the ivory fabric of her dress created on her caramel back to the luxurious, enticing sway of her hips and perfectly shaped posterior. Long, smooth legs propelled her upwards with lean muscles. Santana was head to toe perfection.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour's climb, they plateaued onto a small, wooden landing in front of a thick, wooden door panted jet black. Santana's hand found the knob and twisted it quickly as she gave the door a sharp jab with her shoulder.

"It sticks," she said over her shoulder to Brittany. The door opened and cool, evening air rushed through Santana's hair, causing it to ripple and flow over her face, masking everything but her penetrating brown eyes, which were fixated on Brittany as though she were the secret to life itself. Brittany smiled, stepping forward and brought her hands up to slowly brush the raven veil away from Santana's face. Once again, Santana grabbed her hands and led her through the doorway. Brittany's eyes adjusted to the dimming evening light and her breath caught in her throat at the view. They were on the roof of the Moulin, and Paris at twilight sprawled out before them. The smell of fresh baking bread from a small shop across the street, the sound of carriages clunking and hooves clip-clopping, the gentle twinkle of stars forming in the evening sky to mirror the flickering in windows all over the city; Brittany's senses were filled to the brim. She turned, grinning like a child, bouncing slightly on her feet, and threw her arms around Santana, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Oh, Santana, it's absolutely beautiful!" Brittany gushed to her. Santana smiled back at her, gazing past Brittany's shoulder at the clock tower a few streets away from them,

"It's my favorite place in the world. I only wish you could enjoy it longer. I know Amaury expects you at dinner in a few minutes." Santana's face fell slightly and there was a distinct sadness in her eyes as she verbalized Brittany's impending departure. Brittany turned her head to look at the clock as well; 7:45, the Duke would be here any minute to join Amaury and herself for dinner.

"Yes…it is unfortunate. But, maybe…I could come back sometime?" Brittany questioned under her breath, terrified that the answer might be 'no'.

"Any time you want," Santana affirmed. "But…before you rush off to your fancy dinner, I thought we could end the tour on a high note." Brittany looked puzzled. Wasn't this amazing view the high note? Santana moved in slightly closer to her, pushing her back gently towards the edge of the roof out onto a small, metal balcony.

"You see," Santana cooed, "I brought you up for a reason. I brought you up here, to find that voice that you are keeping from me." Immediately, Brittany laughed. It was a sweet gesture, really, but she could not sing.

"Santana, I really don't-"

"Brittany, just trust me." Santana ordered. Brittany gave an exasperated sigh, but nodded her head reluctantly.

"Now," Santana began, "I want you too look out at the city, take in everything, find a place inside of you as beautiful as what is out there…which should not be too hard for you." Brittany smiled as Santana reached out and grabbed her hips, turning her to face Paris. "Take a deep breath, and sing the very first song that comes to you." Brittany inhaled and opened her mouth, startled at what came out,

"_When first I saw the love light in your eyes_," it was the first line of Santana's song. Her voice, tremulous and weak, however, did not do justice to the beauty of the song, or even come close to Santana's. Santana laughed a little and gave her hips a reassuring squeeze,

"It's ok, we will try again. But you need to take a deep breath, that's what gives you the power. You need to sing from your gut," Brittany's heart fluttered as she felt Santana's body flush against her back; the gentle curve of her breasts, the slightly protruding hipbones. Before she could stop herself, Brittany felt her body reflexively lean into the woman behind her. Santana's hands came up, one finding the warm patch of skin over Brittany's heart, the other resting firmly on her lower abdomen.

"Sing from _here_," Santana stated as she gave a slight push on the hand on Brittany's stomach. Brittany did everything she could to ensure a moan did not escape her lips. As ordered, she took a deep breath, and pushed it through her vocal cords with all the power she could muster,

"_When first I saw the love light in your eyes,_" Brittany clapped her hand over her mouth and gave an ecstatic shriek at the beautiful line of music she had just produced. She couldn't believe it. Her voice had been strong and clear, with a warmth to it that she had never heard before. She turned her head enough to see Santana's reaction, and the Latina smiled encouragingly,

"Keep going!" She coaxed, and Brittany didn't need to be told twice.

"_I dreamt the world held naught but joy for me"_ Brittany felt her voice easily glide over the notes, and soon, a slightly raspier voice joined in,

"_And even though we drifted far apart  
>I never dream, but what<em>_I__dream of thee,_"

Santana pressed her cheek against Brittany's, and Brittany hummed quietly at the feel of Santana's lips moving so close to her skin. Almost without knowing she was doing it, Brittany positioned her hands to cover each of Santana's. Santana wound her fingers through the blonde's and squeezed gently. Brittany turned her body into Santana's, desperate to see those warm, coffee eyes. She brought their interwoven hands between them, letting go of one only to bring her own hand up to cup Santana's cheek. The glowing brown orbs never wavered from her own, and Brittany could feel herself being pulled in by them; she didn't resist. Brittany inclined her head to accommodate the height difference, and slowly, gently, brought her lips to Santana's. At first, the kiss was soft and chaste, Brittany simply relished the silky, plush feel of Santana's lips. Soon, Santana's hand that remained clutched in Brittany's, made its escape and found a perch on the goose-bumped flesh of her naked back. Santana's fingers were strong and warm as they pulled Brittany's body directly against her own. Brittany let out a sharp gasp at the contact, and the slight parting of her lips in that moment was all it took. She greedily pulled Santana's bottom lip between her own, and soon found her free hand knotted in raven hair. Santana's tongue darted out, gently tasting Brittany's top lip. Their lips moved in a steady rhythm, sliding, pulling, parting and coming together like the most perfect of dance partners. When Brittany final pulled away for air, the bell tower in the distance chimed abruptly. Brittany turned her head to see what she already knew; 8 o'clock. She had to leave. Devastated, she dropped her gaze to the street below and her blood froze in her veins. There in the dusk, standing at the entrance to the Moulin Rouge, staring eagerly up at her, tipping his hat in acknowledgement and smiling viciously, was the Duke.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for such a long delay, school is nuts so I'll update as much as possible but it could be a little slow. Also, I'd LOVE if you guys would write some more reviews, I really enjoy them. As always, thanks for reading and enjoy!**

Chapter 7:

Santana paced back and forth, the letter clutched tightly in her hands. She had found it wedged under the knocker of her door when she had returned home from that night's late show. The delicate stationary crackled in protest under her white knuckled grip as she paced back and forth, eyes flying over the page.

_Dear Miss Lopez,_

_ I write to remind you of your obligation to have dinner with me, a matter that you seem to have very conveniently forgotten about. Monsieur Marchand assured me that I would be receiving your company before the week was out, and I must insist you comply. I must warn you that failure to do so will result in swift and harsh consequences. You see, I am aware of your rendezvous with Miss Pierce that took place on top of the Moulin last Thursday evening before her dinner with Monsieur Marchand and myself. If you doubt my knowledge I offer you the following proof; you were wearing an ivory gown with your hair down, and she, hair down as well, was clothed in a golden gown, which, to my knowledge, she does not own as I have never seen it before. Now of course you know who Miss Pierce's father is, but you may not know that he has the propensity to be a very cruel man; perhaps it is why we get on so well. However, Miss Pierce has pulled a stunt like this before and he was none too pleased about it, to say the least. If you don't believe me, ask her where she got the large scar on her left thigh. Now, if you fail to do your duty to me, I will reveal my knowledge to Mr. Pierce, and being his right hand man and as Brittany has the history that she does, he will no doubt believe me, and I can assure you that if he gets wind of this you will never see hide nor hair of Miss Pierce again. Therefore, I strongly urge you to consider my words carefully. If I do not see you Saturday night in the West tower, word of Miss Pierce's indiscretion will reach her father Sunday morning, and it will not be the messenger who will be in fear of being shot._

_Sincerely,_

_William Bardwell, Duke of Warwickshire_

Santana didn't even have time to process her emotions before the door burst open and the burly figure of Amaury filled the frame. Santana's brows furrowed as she saw the rage burning in his normally calm green eyes, the hard steel line his lips were pressed into, and the quivering ball of rage his hand had become as he raised his fist to reveal a slightly disheveled letter. He covered the distance between the two of them in three great strides, and upon reaching her shoved the letter in her face.

"I'm sure yours says exactly the same thing," he hissed under his breath. Santana could here the rage tussling with his composure as he spoke, just barely restrained, fighting to break free. He abruptly removed the sheet of paper from in front of her eyes and began his assault on the floor, taking powerful steps as he paced back and forth, hand knotted in his silver locks, eyes glued to the wooden boards beneath him. Santana watched nervously, never having seen this side of the gentle giant before. Steeling her nerves, she forced her voice out with assurance,

"He won't win, Amaury." Amaury's foot crashed down as he stopped pacing mid step and whipped around to face her. His eyes seized hers and the look of helpless defeat and fear poured from them.

"He already has, Santana." He shook his head softly and brought a large hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, attempting to quell the headache Santana knew must be wracking him at that moment, "He already has…" he whispered again. Santana stepped forward and placed a consoling hand on his large bicep,

"He doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what he saw. We will be fine." Santana almost fell over when Amaury's head snapped up and his arm flew from her hand. She searched his face for an answer and immediately began to tremble; the rage had broken its chains.

"Doesn't matter? No, Santana, it doesn't matter to you, because you're right, you will be fine," he seethed at her, in a tone that seemed to drip with fury. "Do you know why it doesn't matter? BECAUSE YOU ARE NOTHING!" he bellowed at her at the top of his voice. Santana retreated a few steps back from him, not sure if it would remain only his words that would strike vicious blows. "You are nothing but a whore, Santana! At least that is what the world thinks! She is a kind of special and important that you cannot even begin to understand! So yes, you will be fine! The world will think no less of a dancer from the Moulin if she uses her body to swindle some jewels out of a naïve aristocrat like Mademoiselle Pierce. But _she _will be RUINED!" The tears streamed from Santana's eyes as the sting and truth of his words began to sink in. He was absolutely right. How could she be so selfish? She had to go. She had to do anything she could to protect Brittany. She looked back up at him and nodded slightly, not yet capable of words.

"You will go to him," he pointed his finger at her, and she swore she could feel it penetrate her heart, a fleshy dagger. "You will go to him. You will do whatever he asks you. And then you will end it with her." Santana stood and opened her mouth to protest,

"But, I love h-"

"YOU WILL END IT!" He roared, spinning on his heels, crossing the threshold and slamming the door so hard the casing shuddered. Santana sat, head in hands, tears pouring down her cheeks. Tears of sadness, tears of fear, but mostly tears of anger. A firm wrapping on the door caused her to bolt upright. She discarded the letter in her armchair as she made her way to the door and seized the handle, throwing it open in fury, ready to meet what was sure to be an attempt at an apology from a regretful Amaury. However, Santana stepped back bewildered when her angry eyes met only startled shards of blue.

Brittany stood shocked into stillness before her. Only for a moment however, until she saw the tears on Santana's face and rushed forward. Santana felt the tension in her body disintegrate as she was enveloped in Brittany's warm arms. Brittany leaned away from her only enough to look into her eyes and gently wipe the tears from her cheeks with the pad of her thumb.

"What happened? I met Monsieur Marchand on the stairs and he seemed flustered, to say the least." Santana nodded, fake sniffling a bit to give herself time to come up with a response appropriate to the tears she was shedding.

"Yes, we had a disagreement. He said my performance tonight was terrible and he sort of let me have it." Santana watched Brittany's brows knot in anger as she shook her head in disapproval.

"Well, I thought you were fantastic, and there was no need for him to be so harsh with you. I would like to see him do what you do every night!" Santana laughed and couldn't help but beam at the gorgeous woman defending her honor before her. She looked down at the frilly emerald skirt and bustier she was still wearing, and picked up the skirt lightly in her hands and then glanced back to the blonde,

"You'd like to see Amaury in this every night?" Brittany's exuberant laughter filled the room, and Santana's right along with her. Brittany placed a gentle hand on Santana's hip and moved towards her,

"No," she murmured in a lower, sultry tone, "I don't think he'd fill it out quite the way you do." Santana swallowed hard and felt her heart do a flip as the blonde lowered her head to meet her lips in a gentle kiss. Santana's eye's fluttered closed and she thought to herself how she could kiss Brittany forever…until she remembered that she couldn't. This was probably her last night with the woman whose gentle lips were pressed upon her own. Her body responded before her brain could and Santana's arms flung around Brittany's neck, seizing her with a fervor that Santana did not know she possessed. She clung to Brittany desperately, never intending to let go, to turn this one moment into forever. Brittany complied instantly, and looped her arms around Santana, and her fingers instantly began working at the tightly knotted corset back of the bustier. Santana pressed her body into Brittany's, letting her hands slide from the back of Brittany's neck, down the slightly open back of her silver gown, down to the firm, round muscles of Brittany's backside. She heard and felt the blonde give a surprised squeak into her mouth as she gave a firm squeeze. However, when Santana opened her eyes to gauge the waters, the tiny trace of surprise in those icy blue orbs quickly melted into smoldering lust. She felt Brittany's tongue dive into her mouth, sliding gently against her own and over her teeth. Santana moaned deeply and used her own tongue to graze Brittany's bottom lip, stopping only momentarily when she felt the cool air assault her skin as Brittany undid the final knot and Santana's clothing fell to the floor. Although every inch of her skin was bare, Santana didn't feel exposed under Brittany's gaze. She watched as the blonde stepped back and examined her hungrily. Then, much to her astonishment, Brittany reached up of her own accord and slid the thin silver straps of her dress off her milky white shoulders, letting the shiny satin slither down her body to nestle around her ankles. Santana felt her jaw drop at the form before her: her breasts were of the purest white, with pert pink nipples. Her stomach was taut and toned; her belly button accompanied on Santana's left side by two freckles that the reader in Santana couldn't help but think looked like a colon. Her hips curved gently and perfectly. Before Santana's eyes could get any further, Brittany came forward and placed both of her hands on Santana's shoulders, gently pushing her backwards. She guided her to the bed and laid her down on top of the red silk sheets. Santana gasped as she felt soft breasts press against her own and a warm, wet heat make contact with her lower abdomen as Brittany straddled her. Santana immediately surged upwards, capturing soft, strawberry lips between her own. She felt Brittany's hand cup her right breast, massaging it gently, flicking her thumb over a tanned nipple, much to Santana's approval. Instinctively, Santana flipped them over so she lay on top of Brittany. However, Brittany was not one to be upstaged. Santana gasped as she felt the simultaneous pressure of Brittany's teeth on her neck, and the surge of pleasure as two fingers entered her. Santana sat up, her head tossed back, and one hand on each of Brittany's breasts, gently messaging, as she road Brittany's hand. With each thrust upwards of Brittany's fingers, Santana ground her hips down, pushing the digits further inside of her and creating greater friction of Brittany's palm on the small bundle of nerves at her center. When Brittany reached up, grabbed the back of Santana's neck, and pulled her down to lock her in a passionate kiss, the sweet taste of Brittany's lips was enough to send her over the edge and her orgasm came in waves, her walls clenching tightly around Brittany's fully encased fingers. Santana lay still on top of Brittany, breathing heavily, waiting for the fog in her brain to dissipate.

When it did, she wasted no time. Lifting herself off of Brittany's fingers, she pressed a kiss to Brittany's lips before dragging her full ones down the creamy pale skin of her neck, flicking her tongue out to taste the thin, salty layer of sweat and the sweet, soft flesh beneath it. Finding a spot at the hollow of Brittany's throat, Santana sucked deeply, and she felt the moan rattle against the thin skin there. When she removed her lips to continue downward, she saw that she had left a blossoming red bud on Brittany's skin that was sure to be a deep shade of violet by tomorrow. Proceeding lower, Santana's mouth found Brittany's left breast and she hungrily encased her nipple with her mouth, swirling and flicking her tongue around the tiny mountain of nerves. She sucked deeply, pulling her mouth away and releasing the pink bud with a "pop". She heard Brittany giggle lightly through her moaning, and Santana smiled to herself as she placed her next kiss to Brittany's stomach, just below her naval. She worked her hand under Brittany and placed it firmly against the palm of her back. She grasped firmly and as if on queue, Brittany arched her back and raised her hips, writhing in pleasure and deepening the pressure with which Santana's lips caressed her skin. Never wasting an opportunity, Santana used the leverage of Brittany's position to drop her own body lower, leveling her face with Brittany's core so that when Brittany's body dropped back down to the bed, her legs rested neatly over Santana's shoulders. Santana's mind was fogged once again as the sweet, fruity smell of Brittany's sex assaulted her senses. She could feel her mouth flood with saliva and could wait no longer. She splayed her left hand over Brittany's abdomen to keep her still, and dipped her head to the blonde's center. Santana's lips encased Brittany's clit, sucking gently. The woman beneath her gasped eagerly, and Santana felt fingers knot in her hair, pressing her further into her. Santana's tongue swooped down and plunged itself into Brittany's entrance, eliciting a tangible shiver and rattling groan. Santana curled her tongue and then brought it out, gently flicking the small bundle of nerves above Brittany's entrance, before pressing it hard and flat against it. Santana then kissed hastily back up Brittany's body, replacing her tongue with two long, caramel fingers. Santana aligned her hips with the back of her hand and began to thrust gently, driving herself deeper and deeper into the gasping woman beneath her.

"Santana…oooh…" was all Santana heard before she felt Brittany's walls flutter and then clamp down upon her own fingers. Brittany's mouth hung slightly open, her eyes slammed shut and she arched her entire body into Santana. When she came down, she opened her eyes and wrapped her arms firmly around Santana, holding her closely and kissing her softly.

"Let's stay this way forever," Brittany whispered sleepily as she kissed Santana.

"Forever," Santana promised, as she gently withdrew her fingers from inside Brittany and rested her hand on the inside of the blonde's left thigh, only to have the hollowness of her word echo in her ears as she felt the ragged, raised edges of a long scar.

**Seriously guys, please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey sorry for such a long delay everybody! My winter term had me busy 24/7. Things should slow down for a bit now so I hope to be updating frequently. Please review (you know I love them) and enjoy!**

Chapter 8:

Brittany smiled contentedly, her arms draped lazily over Santana's back as the still naked woman lay on top of her. She relished the skin-on-skin contact and the soft flutter of Santana's lips like butterfly wings on her skin. Brittany's smile spread slowly as she heard Santana sigh softly and nestle her face deeper into her neck.

"Santana," she whispered, raising a hand to comb her fingers gently through raven hair, tangled with love making.

"Mmm," Santana hummed in response, pressing a deliciously slow kiss to the hollow of Brittany's throat.

"I was wondering," Brittany murmured nervously, "when it was that you first realized that…" she trailed off, not sure how to pose the rest of her question.

"That what?" the brunette lifted her head enough to trap Brittany's eyes with her own deep brown ones. Calmed by the warmth she found in that dazzling russet, Brittany cleared her throat and continued,

"That you loved women?" she asked, blushing automatically. Santana only smiled gently and rested her head once again on Brittany's chest.

"Well, it was before I came to Paris," she began, the warm air she exhaled as she spoke tickling Brittany's skin. "As a matter of fact, it was when I first met Amaury. He came to Puerto Rico with a few of his dancers and performed at the bar my father owned in San Juan. The dancers put on a show and there was a girl who looked not much older than me, and she did a smooth waltz with a man that was at least ten years older than her. But she owned him. His eyes were on her the entire time, as were everyone else's. It seemed as though she were leading him, the way he made every movement to accentuate her perfectly. She was wearing this thin, white gown that flowed all around her when she twirled. She was so light on her feet; it looked like she was floating on a cloud. She had long brown hair and olive skin and brilliant emerald eyes. I sat in the front row, so close to the stage I could see the single drop of sweat roll down her neck as he dipped her in their final move. After they'd finished, she saw me not applauding, but still staring at her, and she winked at me. I raced around back to where the dressing rooms were and told Amaury that my father owned the bar, and asked if I could meet the girl that had just performed. He led me to her dressing room, I knocked, and she answered. Her name was Kata, she was 16, and she was a Gypsy from Hungary. She welcomed me in and told me all about how she had grown up dancing with her family's troupe that traveled all over Hungary, performing for coins that bystanders would throw. The previous year, they were performing in Budapest, and she noticed Amaury watching her attentively. After she had performed, he had had asked her if she'd like to be a dancer at a club he owned in Paris. She had discussed it with her family and they agreed and she had been working for him ever since.

Then I asked her how I could go about becoming a dancer in that troupe. She laughed at me and asked if I could actually dance. I said yes, stood up, and with no music, did what I had been doing all my life; the Salsa. When I had finished, she said that she was sure Amaury would take anyone who could move the way I did with no training. Clearly, he did and we caught the next boat back to Europe. Kata and I became fast friends, and I became more and more infatuated with her beauty every day, but I didn't know why. Until one day when she asked me to teach her the Salsa. She had the basic movements down, just not the _feeling_. So, I stood behind her, placed my body against hers, my hands on her hips and began to move with her. She moved her body into me and I felt a fire growing within me that I had never known before. I grabbed her hand and spun her, and as she twirled into me and looped her arms around my neck, I found myself leaning in to kiss her. It seemed I couldn't control my own body. I felt my lips move against hers and my hands claw at her back. Fortunately, she kissed me back. From that moment on, I knew that no man would ever be able to create a spark like that."

Santana finished and gave a soft kiss to Brittany's sternum. However, Brittany's brow furrowed and her curiosity got the best of her as she asked, "Well, what happened to her?" Santana chuckled and lifted her head to smirk at the blonde.

"How did I know I wouldn't get away with leaving it at that?" she winked at Brittany. "Well, we danced and lived together for about seven years. However, I began to grow more and more well known and she couldn't stand being in the shadow of someone she had helped bring to fame. I didn't really care about the spotlight, and I tried to convince her of that, but she believed firmly that I had seduced her to get to the top. She left, moved back to Hungary, and I was heart broken for a long time." Her voice faltered ever so slightly, and Brittany felt her heart give a violent pang at the audible sadness in her lover's voice.

"That was five years ago. Weren't there any others?" Brittany questioned softly, continuing to soothingly caress Santana's head.

"There was the occasional fling or two; a new dancer a few years back, there was a widow from town once who I carried on with for about a year or so, but none of them stuck. None of them made me feel alive the way…well, the way you do." Brittany watched Santana lift her head once again to search for her eyes, search for approval. Brittany felt the warmth from her pattering heart climb up her chest and neck before it landed in her mouth in a broad grin. Santana smiled back with visible relief, and stretched upward to take Brittany's bottom lip gently between her own.

"What about you?" Santana mumbled against Brittany's mouth. Brittany's lips froze into inaction and her eyes popped open as her heart began to race the instant she began to delve into memory. Instinctively, her hand went to cover the angry red scar on the inside of her left thigh, but she found her path blocked by Santana's body. She felt Santana remove her lips from her own and pull back to look sternly at Brittany.

"Brittany? Are you all right? I can feel your heart racing against my chest." Santana whispered worriedly. Brittany only nodded quickly and swallowed hard as she reached a timid hand back into the recesses of her mind to pull forward the painful memory.

"I was fourteen," she began…

Brittany wandered through the high-ceilinged halls of the Pierce mansion, quietly humming to herself as her bony, adolescent legs carried her swiftly towards the library. She reached the heavy oak doors and her gangly arms gave a push to grant her entrance to the private library her father had so carefully put together, selecting each of the books that adorned four walls, floor to ceiling, by hand. As she entered, a grin immediately blossomed on her face as she saw silky red hair falling in a plait down the slender back of a white dress, perched atop the library ladder on the far wall. Scuttling over to the base of the ladder, she placed her hands on both sides and gave a playful shake, screaming at the top of her voice,

"EARTHQUAKE!" The girl at the top instinctively dropped the book she had just retrieved and lurched forward onto the rungs, wrapping herself around them for dear life. The heavy volume tumbled earthward and Brittany's laughter was cut short by its abrupt collision with the crown of her head.

"Oomph," she grunted, releasing the ladder and stumbling backwards, rubbing her head irritatedly. She bent down and picked up the offending work of literature, turning it over in her hands to its front cover,

"_Tom Jones_," she read. She looked up from the leather binding to see the red hair and white dress just reaching the end of their descent of the ladder. The girl turned to face her. Her face was heart shaped, with a narrow chin and high, round cheekbones, adorned with a soft, natural blush and a faint smattering of freckles that connected across the bridge of her nose. She had green eyes; the light, crisp green of Brittany's favorite apples. Her lower lip pouted out a bit below her top, and her nose was straight and sharp. She smiled at Brittany and reached a delicate hand forward to retrieve the book,

"Well," she said in an airy voice that Brittany always imagined she had stolen from a fairy, "at least you had the good fortune to get conked by a good book, eh?" Brittany reached forward and gave the girl a playful shove,

"You would know, Rose," she mocked, "you've only read every book in this library about a million times!"

"Not quite a million," Rose piped, rolling easily off Brittany's jab, "but much closer to it than you'll ever be." She smiled broadly at Brittany, who scowled and continued to rub her head.

"Stop doing that," Rose scolded, reaching upward and grabbing Brittany's wrist, pulling her hand from its continuous attack on her tender scalp. "You've mussed your hair all up and all you're doing is aggravating it." Brittany frowned and rolled her eyes at Rose's continual stream of know-it-all comments. However, she submitted and let Rose drag her to a green velvet chair, where she was forced to sit down as Rose walked around behind her and began to undo the ragged remains of her bun.

"Rose," Brittany chirped, whipping her head around to look at the girl behind her, "can you do my hair like yours? It…well, it always looks so beautiful." Rose smiled warmly, her soft, almond shaped eyes wrinkling slightly with the expression.

"Of course," she nodded, and her nimble fingers began their work. She combed her fingers gently through Brittany's tresses, working out any tangles or knots that may have been caused by Brittany's incessant rubbing. Brittany sighed and felt her body immediately relax as the soft pads of Rose's fingers caressed her scalp. Her eyes fluttered closed and she let herself enjoy the tender treatment of Rose's skilled hands. Finally, she felt Rose tie the end of the plate with a piece of string, then return to the front of the chair.

"How do I look?" Brittany asked, bringing the neatly braided tail over her shoulder to look at it. Rose squatted down in front of the chair and placed her upturned fingertips gently under Brittany's chin, softly encouraging her to look up at her. As Brittany's blue eyes connected with brusque green, she suddenly became aware of the electric feeling Rose's skin had on her own.

"You look beautiful," Rose whispered, and leaned forward. Without knowing what she was doing, Brittany felt her eyes close and her lips part every so slightly. Then, she felt a warm, slow rush of fire spread throughout her being as Rose's lips landed upon her own, softer than the petals of the flower for which was named. She felt Rose give a quivering breath against her mouth, and felt the shudder reverberate through her own body. She leaned forward to capture Rose's lips herself this time, when she heard the library door give an earsplitting slam.

"BRITTANY!" Her father's booming voice seemed to cause the room itself to quake. Brittany's eyes snapped open and she felt Rose jolt up and away from her, as she trained her eyes on the smoldering silhouette of her father that filled the doorway. He marched, forward seized Brittany roughly by the forearm, jerking her out of the chair, and shot a withering, steel grey glance at Rose,

"Get _out_!" he hissed through clenched teeth. Rose gave the briefest of glances at Brittany, who saw the sheer panic that had seized her face, and then sprinted for the doorway, surely off to find her mother in the maids' quarters. As soon as Rose had left the room, Brittany's father dragged her roughly through the room, out the door, down the hallway, and into his study where he slammed the door behind them. He let go of her hand for the first time, and she rubbed the angry red burns his large fingers had left blazing on her skin.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing at a wooden chair in the corner, just on the right of the blazing fireplace. She watched cautiously as her father walked to the fireplace, picked up the large black poker, glowing orange at the end, and turned to face her. And then he was upon her. Deceivingly swift for his size, her father had ripped from hem to hip of the left side of her skirt and slapped the molten tip of the metal rod against the inside of her left thigh before Brittany had even had time to understand what was about to happen to her. The pain hit her with nauseating intensity, and she heard her screams echo around the room as she clawed furiously at her father's forearm. He remained firm, and continued to press the scorching iron to her melting skin until the brilliant orange dulled to an impotent, ashy white. Standing, he tossed the iron back into the fire with a startling clank, and then fixed the fire in his gaze upon her.

"Let that be a reminder," he growled, as she continued to sob in pain and fear, "of the fires of Hell that will consume your entire body, if you _ever_ do that again." He cast her one last hateful look, and left the room, locking the door behind him, leaving Brittany to cry, rocking back and forth, gaping at the singed flesh that fell in great, black flakes, exposing the raw, pink meat of her thigh.

"I…I can't believe he…" Santana stammered, not knowing how to put into words the incredible anger she felt consuming her entire being. Instead, she wrapped her body around Brittany, doing the only thing she could to shelter the love of her life; putting herself between Brittany and danger. She looked at Brittany, tears rolling down her own face, and shook her head and the steely bravery she saw holding firm within those blue eyes.

"It's ok," Brittany stated, "He'll never hurt me like that again."

"No," Santana growled, sitting upright and scooting to the edge of the bed to dangle her legs over it, "he will not…I won't let him….Brittany…" she whispered, not daring to look at her lover, "There is something I have to do." She felt Brittany sit up beside her and her smooth arm drape around the small of her back,

"What is it?" Brittany murmured gently, placing her head on Santana's shoulder. Santana's heart ached at the gentle innocence that was always present in Brittany's voice, and the tender way in which her fingers glanced softly over her hip, as she contemplated how to tell the love of her life that tomorrow, she would go sleep with a man that they both despised. She could think of no good way, and she opened her mouth and simply forced the words out.

"The Duke has requested my private services. Our meeting is scheduled for tomorrow. I intend to go." There was silence for quite some time. Finally, she turned to face Brittany. She expected tears, features overrun with sadness, sobbing, and desperate pleading. However, she did not expect the glacial look in Brittany's eyes, or the swift right hand that crashed with a biting pain against her cheek.


	9. Chapter 9

**This is the second to last chapter. Sorry again about delay, but I'm living the life of a junior double major/double minor college student haha. Please review like it's your job, because I really do love them. As always, enjoy!**

Santana's hand came up to glove the sharp stinging that possessed her cheek. Her mouth hung slack and her eyes wide as she gaped at Brittany, completely taken aback by what had just happened. Brittany's face looked as though it was one cast out of marble. Her jaw was set in a tight harsh line, the muscles working furiously under her skin as she clenched her teeth. Her normally bright, wide blue eyes had receded to cold, flat slits of agate. In an instant, she was up, blustering about the room, snatching each bit of clothing that Santana had torn from her only a few hours ago. Santana sat motionless on the bed, watching the stormy blonde dress herself, only jumping up and to action when Brittany made for the door without so much as a backward glance.

"Wait!" the Latina heard the words escape her throat in a desperate, strangled, cry, the tone of which she was sure was the only reason Brittany stopped in the doorframe, her back still to Santana, her shoulders heaving up and down with what Santana assumed to be breaths of fury. Before she spoke again, Santana reached down and slid a tangled sheet off the bed, giving it a brief shake, and then encircling her still nude form with it. Santana stepped forward slowly, but made sure to remain out of the reach of Brittany's lightning quick hands.

"Brittany…I…it's not what-" Santana felt herself flinch reflexively and take a cautious step back as Brittany spun around and advanced towards her.

"It's not what I think? Is that what you were going to say Santana? So, if it's not what I think then Kata wasn't right? You aren't some glorified whore who used me to sleep her way to the top just like you did her? Tell me I'm wrong, Santana! Tell me I didn't fall in love with a monster."

Santana couldn't believe the words that were stinging her ears. Before she could even process how to feel, her body took care of it for her and she felt the hot tears cascading down her cheeks. How could Brittany think that? Of course she could think that. That's exactly how it must have looked. Brittany didn't know the danger she was in if Santana didn't go.

And it would remain that way.

Using every ounce of will in her body, Santana reached up and swiftly wiped the tiny salt droplets from her cheeks and furiously blinked away the new ones that were welling in her eyes. Unconsciously wrapping the sheet more securely around her waist, Santana steeled herself, and cleared her throat to speak as clearly and steadily as possible.

"You're not wrong," she stated with force, trying to convince herself as much as Brittany. "You were the one way to ensure the Duke's jealousy. Being on the inside with him, means being on the inside with your father," she reached inside of her and pulled out the performer deep within. The one that twirled seductively in front of men, grinding against their disgusting, swelling erections to squeeze out ever last pound from their pockets. She slithered towards a stunned Brittany, "and your father's money means expansions and investments in the Moulin. Investments in the Moulin mean investments in me," Santana, inches from the floored blonde, let the sheet slip down her hips and pool at her feet on the floor. Gently, she raised a hand to Brittany's face, cupping her cheek and lightly pulling Brittany towards her. She dragged her full lips slowly along the blonde's jawbone until they were even with a pale ear. She flicked her tongue against it and hissed, "I'll be filthy rich, and I have you to thank for it." She felt the shiver wrack Brittany's frame in tandem with the choked sob that escaped her quivering lips. Santana pressed her lips to the neck of the catatonic woman before her, and heavily swept her tongue over the skin there, sucking and biting, purposefully leaving a mark. Goosebumps erupted over the alabaster flesh. She had succeeded.

Instantaneously, she felt Brittany's hands find her chest and give a hard shove. She stumbled backwards and watched the bleary eyed blonde bolt from the room and down the staircase, her strangled wails reverberating off the stairwell walls. As soon as the sobs had faded, Santana's began. She collapsed into the sheet on the floor and cried until her throat went raw. She had done what she intended: Brittany would never get hurt…but she would never come back.

Santana dressed herself in the evening light. She wore all black, and to the unknowing eye it might have appeared as if she were attending a funeral. She laced the midnight black corset tightly, pushing her breasts up into an alluring heart shape at the top of the device. She stepped into the long, form fitting black gown, sliding it up over the matching lace panties and securing the thick single should strap firmly over her right side. She tucked her black waves neatly into a loose bun, retrieved her small purse that contained her rouge and lipstick, stepped into her heels, and slipped out the door. The journey to the West tower, the rickety old tower that had originally harbored the windmill but was now used for guest suites, seemed much shorter than she remembered. Standing at the bottom of the staircase, she took a quivering breath in an unsuccessful attempt to sooth her jumping nerves, and began her ascent. Santana reached the large black door, and began to pace furiously, her breath ragged, her heart throwing itself against her ribs, like a wild bird at the bars of a cage. _I can't do this_, she thought. _It's a mistake, I've made a mistake. I'll never be able to sleep with him after Brittany…Brittany_. Her pacing stopped and her breath and heart fell into their normal rhythm as she remembered the reason she was there. Without pause, her fist tucked into a ball and her knuckles wrapped sharply against the shattering black paint of the door. The door opened instantly and the Duke's lean form filled its frame as if he had been waiting just on the other side. He was wearing a deep charcoal suit jacket, with matching trousers and a blood-red vest underneath. His hair was slicked back with oil, giving it a permanently wet appearance and his boyish face was cleanly shaven.

"Miss Lopez," he sneered, reaching forward to take her hand in his fleshy talons. He bent and placed a cool, damp kiss to her skin, sending goose bumps and shivers bursting in rapid succession over her body. "Please, come in." He righted himself and stood aside, motioning her in with the hand that was not clutching her own. Santana looked slowly around the room as she entered. Heavy blue drapes obscured the outside world from her view, creating the gloomy atmosphere that was lit only by the flickering candles and crackling fire that was burning in an open fireplace. The room housed a large black velvet couch, a sturdy mahogany coffee table decorated with thick crystal candlesticks, accompanied by a bottle of champagne and two glasses of the fizzling liquid. In the center of the far wall, lit eerily by the dancing flames of the fireplace on the wall to its left, sat a large bed wrapped in black satin sheets. Santana swallowed hard at the bed, the shadows the flames flung upon it making it seem as though it was moving, living, breathing, ready to swallow her up. She re-plastered the vacant grin upon her face and turned to meet the Duke.

"Would you care for a drink?" he asked politely, or as politely as was possible for him, Santana thought. She nodded fervently, desperately hoping that a little alcohol coursing through her veins would stem the shaking she saw in her hands as she reached out for the glass. The Duke moved towards her with the glass, holding it close to his chest.

"Ah, ah, ah," he clucked, wagging a mocking finger at her, "you must pay the toll first." He leaned forward, his lips careening towards her own. At the last second, Santana turned her head from him, and his mouth landed sloppily on her cheek. She heard him growl slightly in her ear, and saw the anger flit over his eyes as he pulled away, swallowing harshly and working his mouth into a disapproving smile.

"Playing hard to get, are we Miss Lopez?" She smiled half out of nerves, half out of fear.

"Oh no, my dear Duke," she muttered shakily, "but one must always be a lady." He tilted his head upwards and laughed condescendingly,

"Ah yes…a lady." He leered at her, and she held his gaze as long as she could before she felt the ice in his eyes begin to manifest itself in a seeping cold that was born in her very bones. Shivering slightly, she muttered,

"There must be a draft in here," she rubbed her free hand up and down her arm in an attempt to rouse some blood and subsequently heat, but to no avail. "Do you mind terribly if we stand by the fire for a moment?" She asked, already retreating towards the comforting heat of the amber flames.

"Of course," the Duke said, inclining his head to her wishes. "You go on over, I'm just going to go grab you a shawl from the closet and I will be right with you." Santana smiled at his attempt at compassion, and turned her back on him to face the fire.

She waited for a few minutes and finally heard the Duke's neatly cobbled shoes clicking against the hardwood floor as he approached her from the rear. Santana's glass of champagne tumbled from her fingertips and shattered upon the floor as she felt a vice-like forearm lock itself around her chest and a hand holding a white cloth doused in a toxic-smelling liquid clamp itself over her mouth and nose. As her world began to fracture into slivers of darkness, Santana felt lips snarling in her ear,

"I didn't ask you here because you're a lady. I asked you here because you are a whore."

Santana could see the flickering dance of the fire's light playing on the outside of her eyelids. Gradually, the lead curtains of flesh parted and her world came tumbling back into view. She was lying on the bed in the West tower, the fire still roaring, the mess where she dropped her glass had been cleaned up, but the Duke himself was no where in sight. Santana's arms were splayed out to the side and she began the pull them towards her chest in order to sit up, when a biting pain cut into each of her wrists. Her head whipped from side to side, and the tears immediately began to flow as she realized her wrists were firmly bound to the upper posts of the head board. She looked down, instantaneously seeing that her ankles were chained in a similar fashion to the lower posts of the bed, and looking for the first time at her own body, her naked legs alerted her to the fact that she was clad only in her black corset and matching lace panties. Without thought, she began to scream. Only seconds into her wails, the Duke reappeared from a door at the back of the room. His jacket had been removed and he was wearing only the charcoal trousers, white undershirt, and crimson vest. He moved swiftly towards her, something in his hand gleaming under the fire light.

"Now Miss Lopez," he scolded, brandishing the knife so she could plainly see it, "that is completely unnecessary, but if you insist upon keeping it up I shall have no choice but to put you out again." Santana's screaming hitched in her throat and broke there, not at the threat of the consciousness stealing chemical, but at the burning reflection of the Duke's eyes in the cold, shiny metal of the blade. He moved slowly towards her, lowering the blade towards her chest, which was heaving with barely contained sobs. He slid the cold, flat edge of the blade along her exposed sternum and over the gentle mound of each breast. Stopping in the middle, he spun the blade so the cutting edge was facing the center of the corset, and gave a rapid swipe. Santana tensed under the blade, bracing for the pain that was sure to come. But it didn't. The Duke's deft hands had merely sliced open her corset, which fell limply to either side of her now exposed chest and abdomen. Instinctively she tried to cover herself, but found her hands once again trapped by the tightly knotted ropes. The tears began anew and the Duke shook his head disappointedly.

"I warned you Miss Lopez, but you just don't seem to listen. I shall have to take more severe measures with you. I don't want to, but you force my hand." The Duke walked over to the wrack near the fireplace, picking up a long poker that was welded into a perfect "M" at the end, obviously for "Moulin". He hefted the poker, looking at it inquisitively,

"Yes, this will do I suppose. Now lay still." He returned to his position near Santana, and he let go of the long, black metal pole with one hand to caress her face. She jumped at his touch, and snapped her head away, squirming furiously as his calloused fingers made their way down her neck to her bare breast, palming it roughly.

"No!" She screamed at him, lunging violently at her restraints, trying desperately to get out from under his touch.

With the sharp, fluid motion of a rider whipping his mount, the Duke brought the poker over his head and slammed the shaft back down over Santana's bare shins. The metal hit bone with a sickening crunch, and Santana's throat ripped raw as she screamed in agony.

"Naaah! Noooo! Get…away! Oh God!" She moaned, but remained still, trying desperately not to shift the bones she knew were shattered.

"I didn't want to do that," the Duke whispered softly, "but you gave me no choice." Once again, he leaned toward her, and pressed his lips greedily upon hers. Santana sat motionless, merely letting him kiss her, not responding. When he forced her lips open with his tongue, Santana reacted on instinct. Surging forward, she found his bottom lip and bit down with all her might.

"Gaaaah!" The Duke screamed, ripping his head from hers. His free hand flew to his lip, attempting to quell the tide of blood that was flowing freely. He sucked the torn flesh into his mouth, swallowing the pooling blood. His jaw clenched and the last remaining shred of humanity in his eyes disappeared under a dark, black shadow. Moving swiftly, he made his way to the blazing fire, poker still in hand. He shoved the "M" end into the flames, holding it there for several minutes. When he pulled it out, the metal letter glowed white with heat. Startlingly slowly, he approached the foot of the bed.

"We both know what happened to Brittany when her father found out about her little tryst with that servant girl," he hissed in the darkness, only the light from the fire lapping at his face. "Maybe a similar punishment will teach you a lesson. Although," he smiled vindictively, "why don't we turn this "M" upside down? A "W" seems fitting, don't you think? It will show everyone just who you belong to: William of Warwickshire."

"No…" Santana begged, "please, no. Please, don't, I beg of you, please, don—"

Her words died as the molten brand found the inside of her left thigh. The pain was unbelievable. The fire felt as if it was in her blood. She could feel and smell the skin melting from her muscle. Every nerve in her body felt as though an electric volt had been sent through it. She thrashed without will; her body's desperate attempt to free itself from the torture it was undergoing. But when she thrashed, her legs moved. She could hear the fragmented bones in her shins click under her movement, and the pain shot through her at a jarring velocity. She looked down at her shins to see them bleeding profusely, the skin split by the force of the blow and the serrated edges of the shards of bone beneath. She was aware that she was beginning to lose consciousness. She felt a deep, soothing warmth creeping from the back of her neck, down her spine, wrapping itself around her skull, pulling at the lids of her eyes. Her grip on reality shuttered between dark and light, with hazy glimpses of the Duke's form at the end of the bed, moments of blackness and warmth, then nerve-rending instances of white hot pain. She held on to the Duke's figure as long as she could, afraid of what giving in to the blackness might mean. Just as she felt her grip slipping, she felt the cool air hit the meat of her scalded thigh, and she heard herself gasp, but as if she was listening from a great distance. In the creeping shadows of the firelight, just before they swept in a heavy black veil over her eyes, Santana saw the body of the Duke replaced with a lithe, hourglass form with shimmering golden hair and a crystal candlestick dripping with blood, clasped in its hands.


	10. Chapter 10

**Here it is; the final chapter. I want to thank everyone so much for reading it has meant so much to me. As always, please review (you know I love them). Also, I already have another fic in the works, and if you go under my author name I wrote another short Brittana fic previous to this one. For the last time at the Moulin Rouge, enjoy!**

Chapter 10:

_Good, she's not home, _Brittany thought, as her tentative wrap of the familiar brass knocker on Santana's door was answered only with silence. Not having to stand on her tip toes as the shorter brunette did, Brittany lifted a hand and searched briefly atop the door casing until her slender fingers found the cold metal of the key to Santana's flat. She let herself in and quickly moved about the room, gaze trained intently on the floor in search of the diamond earring that she had lost in the midst of her heated love-making with Santana. _No, _she thought, _that wasn't love making. That was…abuse. Being taken advantage of. Sex. Nothing more._ But obviously Santana was good at that, as that was why her apartment was empty. She was surely as heatedly entangled with the Duke right now as she had been with Brittany the previous evening. Angered at her own weak will, Brittany furiously wiped the welling tears from her eyes and continued her search. As she reached a hand blindly under the edge of the bed, she heard a crinkling sound and pulled out a disheveled looking letter. Her heart stopped immediately and the nausea flew in like a flock of buzzards as she recognized the familiar handwriting and signature; the Duke. Her eyes hungrily absorbed the words, her skin growing paler, and her hands growing shakier with every word. No sooner had the letter come to a close and its meaning sunken in than a small gasp escaped Brittany's lips,

"Santana…" Before her brain could process her actions she was on her feet and sprinting for the door. She hurtled the stairs, three at a time, thanking God for her long, gazelle-like stride. As she exited into the back square of the Moulin, the most direct route to the West Tower, a scream broke the still night air. Brittany's heart stopped in her chest and her blood ran cold; that hoarse, strangled cry belonged to Santana. Her legs were a blur as she sprinted to the base of the tower, the screaming growing louder, more frequent, and more desperate as she approached. Again she vaulted the stairs, willing herself to push harder, move faster. She finally reached the top and was confronted with a large, crackled black door. Her hand found the knob in an instant, and thankfully it was not locked. Brittany pushed open the door, the final barrier muting the screams. When the wooden wall had been removed, her ears were assaulted by a crying, moaning, that couldn't be human. It couldn't be human because how could any human possibly be subjected to the kind of brutality that would produce these low, animal moans and howls?

Brittany entered the room. Her eyes searched desperately until she found the far wall, and the scene that she witnessed almost brought her to her knees. Santana was tied to the bed by each limb. Her bustier had been cut open and her breasts were exposed, vulnerable. Her shins, or what was left of them, were a mangled red river of blood with floating, blindingly white bits of what Brittany could only assume was bone, bobbing amongst it. The Duke, sporting a bloody lip, loomed over a thrashing Santana, firmly pressing a white hot iron poker to the inside of her left thigh. His eyes flickered black and hard in the fire light and his mouth held a smile that would have made the Devil shiver. He had not heard her come in over the sounds that were escaping Santana. She wailed and shook, trying desperately to escape but to no avail. Here eyes were wide but unseeing, the black water of her pupils almost drowning the gentle russet that Brittany so loved. Her wrists were raw and bleeding from the angry bite of her restraints and her shins made a horrible grating noise with every renewed thrust away from the Duke. Brittany stood, rooted in shock, watching the love of her life be tortured to death, for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the ice that had frozen the blood in her veins was at once melted, and instead the blood began to boil with an anger unlike any other that Brittany had ever felt.

With three great strides, she was at the coffee table, snatching with one hand the thick crystal candlestick that must've weighed twenty pounds. In another three, she was behind the Duke and using both her hands to raise the impromptu weapon above her head and then bring it crashing down with all her might, bludgeoning the Duke squarely upon the back of the skull. Brittany heard a swift _crack_ as the crystal met bone, and then an unpleasant squelching as it continued deeper. The Duke's limbs went immediately limp and he crashed to the floor, the cooling iron clattering beside him. Brittany dropped the candlestick, dripping with scarlet, and quickly made her way to the side of the bed, hurriedly undoing Santana's restraints. She watched the Latina's face, watched as her eyelids flitted open and close, and her gaze drifted in and out of consciousness.

"You stay awake for me, Santana." Brittany cooed, placing a quick, gentle kiss on the raw meat of Santana's wrist that was exposed by the first removed bit of rope. The eyes flitted to her face, showing a hint of recognition. Santana's mouth opened and closed, and her body instinctively tilted toward Brittany.

"No, you stay still. Just stay still, love." The tears were flowing freely as she undid the remaining bonds and Santana's eyes never once left her. Knowing there was no other way, Brittany knelt on the bed next to Santana,

"Santana I—yes, hello beautiful," she smiled and responded to a weak hand on her cheek. "Santana I am going to pick you up now. This is going to hurt very much but I need to get you out of here. Is that ok? Do you trust me?" Santana nodded without hesitation, a croak issuing from her throat,

"Ah luh oo," Santana rasped and Brittany's eyes flooded with tears as she nodded rapidly and brushed back satiny black hair from an alarmingly cold and sweaty forehead,

"I know. I love you too." Brittany took the proclamation of love as a "yes" to her previous question. Standing once again, she placed one arm under the bend of Santana's knees and the other on her back, just below her armpit, and without instruction Santana looped her arms around Brittany's neck.

"Are you ready?" Brittany whispered. Another croak. Brittany lifted, gingerly applying force until Santana was an inch off the bed. Santana's legs flopped down slightly as her feet were no longer supported by the mattress and she gave a barely contained shriek of pain that jolted through Brittany's heart.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." She cried, but Santana only shook her head wearily, closing her eyes tightly and breathing deeply. When the eyes fluttered back open and locked themselves on Brittany's face once again, she resumed her task. Brittany began to right herself again, trying to jostle Santana's broken and battered form as little as possible. When she had straightened fully, Brittany began taking the most wary of steps, not rushing the painstaking process. The journey took two hours, and Santana's eyes never left Brittany's face.

Xxxx

Brittany looked over to the chair next to her own to see Santana's doe eyes trained on her with a look so entirely flooded with love that Brittany sometimes thought she might drown in it. It seemed Santana hadn't torn her eyes from Brittany except when they slept ever since the moment she had saved her from that tower.

"Santana," Brittany murmured, "why do you keep looking at me that way?" Santana only smiled broadly and reached over to take her lover's hand.

"Well," she stated, "the night before my…accident, when you left my flat, I was sure I would never see you again. And, I honestly don't know how I did get the chance to. We both know it was a miracle I survived that, and I am still convinced it is a dream. So, just in case, I am never going to stop looking at you. I never want there to be a last time I see you. And if I don't take my eyes off of you, that can't happen, can it?" Brittany laughed her airy, childlike giggle.

"Well, no, I suppose it can't. But Santana, you must know that I'm not going anywhere, don't you?"

"I know," Santana shrugged, "but with you it's not worth taking any chances. And, besides, you're the most beautiful thing in the world. Why waste my time looking at anything else?" Brittany ducked her head from Santana's heavy gaze and blushed fervently.

"I don't think I believe that out of all of San Juan, you have nothing better to look at than me." Santana rose, slightly shakily, on her newly healed legs, still adorned by lightning-bolt like scars that spidered over her shins, and moved swiftly in front of Brittany. She knelt in the sand in front of the tall blonde's beach chair, and locked her brown eyes firmly on dancing blue. Brittany saw a mischievous look that she knew all too well creep onto the brunette's face. Santana raised her hand slowly and placed her fingertips on the side of her tanned neck and traced them down, along the ridge of the ridge of her collar bone, glancing lightly over the center of her sternum and then dragging painfully slowly through the sumptuous valley between her breasts. Brittany swallowed thickly, her eyes following each and every movement of Santana's fingers. The slender caramel digits dipped into the breast of Santana's yellow cotton sundress and pulled out a small, glittering object. Santana laughed at Brittany's lustful expression.

"It works every time." She smirked and, finally snapped back to her senses at the brunette's words, Brittany scowled and rolled her eyes.

"Anyway," Santana continued, "if you don't believe me, then I guess I will just have to spend the rest of my life showing you." Santana unfurled her fingers, and in her palm, glittering in the Puerto Rican sun, lay a silver ring with a beautifully crafted diamond embedded in it. Brittany inhaled sharply, her jaw dropping.

"You are all I see Brittany, and I will never look away." Santana promised. The tears came to Brittany's eyes and her throat clenched tightly around the single word she wanted to get out, so furious nodding sufficed. She flew forward in her chair and placed her hands upon Santana's cheeks and pulled her lips to her own in a kiss fueled by every ounce of love she had inside of her.

"I—love-you, Santana." She finally managed between kisses and gleeful sobs.

"I love you more," the brunette whispered against her lips. Brittany smirked and pushed Santana backwards onto the sand and covered her sun kissed body with her own.

"Well, we'll just have to see about that."


End file.
